Lady in White: Legacy
by Lugubrious DBB
Summary: The past always leaves behind a legacy. As Anna Reinhart, freshman history student at the University of Arendelle, will discover, some myths have more than just an element of truth to them, and that what was once believed to be legend may be very real indeed. Post-"Frozen II" & Modern Fic.
1. Chapter 1: Mythology

**Lady in White: ****Legacy**

**Chapter One**

**Mythology**

_"How am I supposed to do this? I can't . . . I can't live forever, knowing that everyone I love, everyone I let myself get close to is going to eventually die while I . . . while I keep existing . . ."_

_ "I'm always going to be with you, Elsa. You'll never be able to get away from me. _Ever!_"_

_ "Promise?"_

_ "Promise . . ."_

* * *

**Wednesday, March 20, 2019**

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

"Mmmhph!"

Anna Reinhart stretched out her fingers, her hand fumbling about as she reached for her cell phone on the bedside table. Eyes shut, her mind stubbornly refusing to exit the realm of sleep, she finally, at long last, managed to silence the damnable alarm emanating from her phone. "Uhh . . ." she groaned, willing her eyes to open against their will. "Just . . . five more . . . five more minutes . . ."

She stared blearily at her phone, disheveled light brown hair cascading over her brow as she yawned. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced at the clock in the top right corner of the device's display: 8:31 a.m.

"That . . . That's nice . . ." Anna mumbled, her eyes closing once more as her head tried its best to disappear into the comfortable recesses of her pillow.

_"What?!"_

Anna sat up, suddenly wide awake, her turquoise eyes no longer filled with the vestiges of sleep, but now wide, panic-filled. "Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no! Not again! Not today! _Not today!_"

The young woman felt her heart plummet to her stomach as she realized what had happened. She had set her alarm the night before, all right. That wasn't the problem. The _problem_ was that she had inadvertently set it to her usual Saturday wake-up time. And the even bigger problem, Anna realized, was that it most certainly _wasn't _Saturday.

"Aaagggh!"

Stumbling out of bed, Anna raced to the bathroom. "Come on, Anna!" she told herself as she stood before the mirror above the sink, horrified by how exhausted her reflection appeared. "Class starts in 45 minutes! You can do this! You can do this!"

She showered faster than she had ever showered before, the adrenaline and the cold water—_Great! Now the water heater's acting up again!_—waking her faster than coffee ever could. Toweling herself off, she sprinted to her closet, throwing on the first combination of sort-of-matching dress clothes she could find. Toothbrush lodged in her cheek, she hopped about, struggling in vain to force her feet into a pair of heels that, if she were honest with herself, didn't really go with her outfit at all. _Maybe Dr. Andersen won't notice?_

Having applied her makeup and styled her hair in record time, Anna stood before her bathroom mirror, analyzing her appearance. The light blue, striped blouse she wore most definitely clashed with the pair of yellow and polka dot pants she had selected, and the pink scarf she had hastily tied about her throat was doing nothing to hide the discrepancy. _Maybe . . . Maybe if I just—_

She glanced at her phone, hoping against hope it wasn't as late as she thought it was. 9:10 a.m.

"Oh, _no_!"

Too panicked to even come close to thinking straight, Anna grabbed her bag from among the piles of papers and books upon the piece of furniture that could only be described as a table in the loosest sense of the word. She hurriedly glanced at her bag, making certain her laptop was inside, along with the presentation notes she had stayed up until two o'clock the night before preparing.

"I can make it," she whispered to herself, trying her best to sound more confident than she actually felt. "I can make it!"

Flying out the door of her small apartment, Anna took the stairs to the lobby three at a time. "Sorry!" she apologized hastily as she plowed past person after person. "Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

The young woman staggered out onto the street, the late March sunlight blinding her momentarily. Fortunately, she reminded herself, the university was only a few blocks away. _I can make it! _she repeated to herself again and again as she walked as quickly as the increasingly uncomfortable heels of her shoes would allow. _I can make it!_

As she reached the crosswalk, she paused, noting that she was standing in a rather large puddle, that the entire street still contained the remnants of the rainstorm she had heard outside her apartment window in the wee hours of the morning. The light before her was red. _Come on! Come _on_!_

A large delivery truck turned right onto the street she was trying to cross, its massive tires sending the contents of the puddle that had formed in the night splashing up onto her. Every single inch of her, from her head to her toes, was now thoroughly drenched.

The young woman stood in stunned disbelief, water dripping from her now-disheveled hair into her eyes as onlookers chuckled quietly at her situation in spite of themselves. "Great!" she cried out to no one in particular, her eyes turned upward toward the now ever-so-blue skies of Arendelle. "Just . . . Just _great_!"

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Svenson, for that . . . _illuminating _presentation."

Dr. Jan Andersen, professor of history and mythology at the University of Arendelle, rubbed his eyes, his horn-rimmed glasses moving upward onto his brow. The professor scribbled notes onto the pad of paper before him, notes he had no intention of actually reading when he assigned his students their grades for the assignment. _God help me, _he thought to himself, a sense of frustration and despair washing over him, however fleetingly. _If this is the best the world's supposed brightest can do, I've wasted my entire career._

Glancing up, Andersen noticed that Svenson had returned to his seat, the young man already on his cell phone, his thumbs rapidly moving about the screen. _No doubt he's texting someone that he "crushed" the assignment, _Andersen grumbled to himself. _Arrogant little son of a—_

Rising, Andersen looked over the class, his fingers stroking his graying beard as he beheld the apathetic stares of dozens of young men and women, none of which appeared to display any interest in the course whatsoever, other than doing the bare minimum required to pass the class. "All right, then," the professor said, doing his best to conceal the growing disappointment he felt toward his students' utter and total lack of imagination and academic curiosity. "Who would like to go next?"

To Andersen's absolute lack of surprise, no one volunteered. Sighing, the professor walked to the front of the lecture hall, shaking his head. "I realize, ladies and gentlemen, that this is merely a 100-level course. Be that as it may, I would greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from using text speak, slang, and . . ." He grimaced in disgust. "And emojis in your slides from now on." He inhaled slowly. "Believe me, however much you despise my standards for academic excellence, rest assured my colleagues in this department have even higher standards once you progress to their courses. _If _you progress to them, that is, which, I must say, based on what I have seen so far this semester from most of you, is a very big 'if' indeed. And for God's sake, spellcheck has been a thing for the past 30 years! Use it, or so help me, I will simply toss your papers into the wastebasket and—"

The lecture hall door burst open. Andersen and the entire class turned their eyes toward the source of the disturbance. The professor shook his head. "Ah, Miss Reinhart. So nice of you to finally join us. I shudder to imagine what sort of lofty activity you've had to put on hold in order to deign to descend to our level, and . . ." He paused, staring incredulously as the young woman hastily sprinted to the front of the hall, taking in her disaster of an outfit, made worse by the fact that she was still sopping wet. _Of course, Miss Reinhart. Why am I not surprised?_

"Sorry, Dr. Andersen!"

Anna quickly slid into the first available seat, the young woman seated next to her taking great pains to move several chairs to her right to avoid the steady drip-drip-drip from Anna's sleeve. "I . . . I sort of overslept, and then . . ." She laughed nervously. "Well, it's been quite a morning, let me tell you!"

Andersen's face betrayed no reaction whatsoever. "Fascinating." The professor clasped his hands together. "Well, Miss Reinhart. Seeing as how your colleagues are reluctant to volunteer to present next, congratulations! You're up."

Anna looked at the professor, her breathing still coming in ragged gasps from the dead sprint she had undertaken to get to the lecture hall. "But . . . But I . . . just sat down—"

Andersen rolled his eyes. "Today, Miss Reinhart! Today!" He pointed to his watch. "Tick tock, tick tock. Come on, young lady!"

Anna stood, walking toward the front of the lecture hall with as much dignity as she could muster in her condition. Ignoring the snickers from her classmates as they realized she wasn't wearing shoes, having discarded them somewhere between the crosswalk and the history building in the name of getting to class as quickly as possible, she retrieved her laptop from her bag. To her relief, the computer hadn't been ruined when she had gotten wet. Plugging it into the projection system, she reached for her notes in her bag. Her foot slipped on the puddle that had formed beneath her while she had been setting up her laptop. "Whoops!"

The entire class was laughing at her now, Andersen's face buried in his hands in disappointment and despair for the future of Western civilization, as Anna fumbled about the floor, trying to quickly retrieve her papers without looking like a bigger disaster than she already felt she was. Papers clutched firmly within her grasp, she stood, forcing a confident expression onto her face. "Okay. I'm . . . I'm ready."

"Lovely," Andersen said, his voice flat. "All right, Miss Reinhart. Wow us."

She inhaled, closing her eyes momentarily as she calmed herself down. Opening them, she faced the class. "I . . . I would like to talk today about the North Forest."

The rest of the class stared blankly at her. Ignoring them, Anna continued. "That's right. The . . . The North Forest. The assignment was to . . . to research a myth, any myth at all, and analyze where it might have come from, why it was created, and what purpose it served the civilization that created it." She swallowed, bracing herself. _This is it, _she told herself. _You believe this. Don't chicken out now._

"When we . . . When we think of myths, we tend to think of ancient civilizations. Greece. Rome. Egypt. The Celts." She paused in what she hoped was dramatic fashion. "But . . . But what we don't realize at times is that much more recent civilizations have their own mythology. Take . . . Take Arendelle, for example."

She smiled slightly as she saw her fellow students were no longer laughing, but rather were leaning forward interestedly. "Now, as an American studying abroad," she continued, "I admit I don't have the appreciation those of you in this class who are actually from Arendelle have for your local culture, and I want to be clear: I don't mean to offend any of you."

She looked Andersen in the eye, crossing her fingers behind her back. "But as Dr. Andersen himself believes, I think the legends of this city are true. Every single one of them."

The students murmured among themselves, turning toward the back of the lecture hall to face Andersen, their faces filled with interest.

Andersen's face had paled slightly, his eyes dark as he regarded Anna. "I must stop you right here, Miss Reinhart," he said. "I don't know what you are getting at or what sort of lies you are trying to tell about me, but I assure you, I in no way believe—"

Anna held up a stapled packet. "But . . . But Dr. Andersen, you . . . you wrote this, didn't you?"

The lecture hall fell completely silent. The students' eyes darted back and forth between Anna and Andersen, eager to see the unexpected direction the conversation was heading.

Andersen rose slowly, walking to the front of the lecture hall. Taking the packet from Anna's hand, he stared at it intently, his hand trembling for the briefest of moments. "Where . . . Where did you get this?" His voice was little more than a whisper.

Anna suddenly felt very, very uncomfortable. "I . . . I found it in the online inter-university archives. It . . . It wasn't easy to find for some reason, but . . ." She looked at Andersen expectantly. "I . . . I think it's fascinating, sir. The legends about how almost two hundred years ago, back when Arendelle was a monarchy, there was a queen who could control ice and snow. Who . . . Who simply disappeared one day. How the North Forest is home to . . . to the Lady in—"

Andersen crumpled the papers, hurling them across the hall. "Enough, Miss Reinhart!" he shouted. Facing the rest of the class, his face beet red, he pointed to the door. "Class dismissed!"

As the other students filed out of the lecture hall uncomfortably, Andersen turned back to Anna. "My office! _Now!_"

As Andersen stormed out of the hall, slamming the door as loudly as he could behind him, Anna stood silently in the lecture hall. Her confidence now completely gone, she shook her head, water cascading all about from her still soaking clothing. _Great . . . Just great!_

* * *

**AN: I have never written a "modern" fic before, but I think I have something to contribute to the genre. Although it is not necessary to do so, I would suggest that readers first read my one-shot "Lady in White," as this story will build upon themes established in that story. More to come!**


	2. Chapter 2: Partnership

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Two**

**Partnership**

**Wednesday, March 20, 2019**

"What the hell was _that_?!"

Anna stood in Dr. Andersen's office, her heart pounding in her chest, her hand clutching the paper she had written in conjunction with the presentation. The professor was pacing up and down, gesticulating wildly, his face, impossibly it seemed to Anna, redder than it had been in the lecture hall. "I . . . Sir, if you'll just—"

"I don't want a goddamned explanation!"

Andersen glared at Anna, his eyes little more than slits beneath his glasses. "You've got a lot of cheek, Reinhart, embarrassing me like that in front of my own students!"

Anna was thoroughly confused. "I . . . I don't understand! All . . . All I did was begin my presentation by pointing out that you, Dr. Andersen, wrote a paper on how you agreed with my point twenty years ago!" She paused. "You . . . You _did _write it, didn't you?"

Anna was certain Andersen's eyes were about to pop out of their sockets. "That paper was supposed to have been destroyed! Every single goddamned copy! It was never—_never!_—supposed to have been uploaded to any database. I retracted it within a month after its publication!"

Fuming, Andersen picked up the phone on his desk, furiously punching numbers into the device. A tense silence hung in the office as Anna stood, nervously watching as Andersen listened to the dial tone emanating from the receiver. "Of course no one answers," Andersen muttered to himself. "Why would they?"

Finally, after sitting through the interminable automated message, Andersen began speaking after hearing the beep that indicated his voicemail was ready to be recorded. "Hello, this is Jan Andersen at the University of Arendelle. I need someone to call me back _today_ about your digital archives. There's a very serious problem with them, and I don't appreciate my reputation being sullied by your institution allowing garbage with my name on it to be disseminated. My extension is 3319. I want to talk to someone today!"

Anna jumped slightly as Andersen slammed the receiver back onto the phone. "Now, where were we, Miss Reinhart?" He ran a hand through his balding gray hair. "Ah, yes. We were discussing the future of your career at this institution, or lack thereof."

He picked up a packet from his desk, thumbing through it. "According to my syllabus for this course, this presentation you just bombed, Miss Reinhart, is worth . . . forty percent of your semester grade. Even if you ace every single remaining assignment, which I assure you is _not _going to happen, you'll be lucky to finish the course with a D+. And you know what that means, particularly if one happens to be a foreign student . . ."

Anna looked at Andersen, her heart pounding furiously. "What?" she whispered.

A dark smile tugged at the corner of Andersen's lip. "Immediate academic probation. Suspension of all institution-granted scholarship funds. And since this is in your major area of study, likely dismissal from the program."

_No!_

Andersen shook his head. "You Americans are all the same. So arrogant. So certain that the rules don't apply to you. So certain that you can just waltz right in and expect that everyone will bend over backwards to accommodate you."

"I . . . I don't do that," Anna whispered. "I've never done that."

"Perhaps not," Andersen conceded. "But it makes no difference. I've taught for a long time now, Reinhart, and I've seen the quality of the students who come to me decline with each passing year. God, I can't remember the last time I taught an undergraduate who actually had the intellectual acumen and imagination to . . ."

His voice trailed off. "Are you crying, Reinhart?"

"No!" Anna insisted, trying her best to keep the moisture in her eyes from running down her face. "I . . . I just—"

"Bah!"

Andersen snatched Anna's paper from her hands, moving to his desk. Sitting in his chair, he adjusted his glasses. "Like I said, Miss Reinhart, the insipidness and banality of the writing my students have turned in over the past decade proves just how utterly . . . pathetic . . ."

Anna stood unmoving as she watched the professor's eyes move over her paper. Hardly daring to breathe, she simply remained frozen as Andersen occasionally scratched his beard, his pen circling, underlining passages in the text from time to time. As he reached the end of the paper, Anna heard him inhale sharply as he began counting the number of sources listed in the reference section. Finally, Andersen set the paper on his desk, his hands folded in his lap, his brow furrowed in thought. After several long, tense moments, the professor opened the bottom drawer of his desk, withdrawing a bottle of liquor. He poured the whiskey into a glass, sipping it slowly, carefully, only turning to look at Anna when the glass was nearly empty.

"So, Miss Reinhart . . ."

Andersen gestured to the chair across from the desk. Nervously, Anna sat down, fully expecting the professor to launch into another tirade against her. To her surprise, Andersen _laughed._

"You really believe this."

It was a statement, not a question. Anna nodded, unsure of where the professor was going with this. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Andersen sipped his drink very, very slowly. "How old are you, Miss Reinhart?"

Anna cocked her head, confused as to where the conversation was going. "Eighteen."

"Hmm . . ."

Andersen stroked his beard. "And why . . . Why, exactly, are you here in our fair city, rather than at some American university? What do your parents think of you being so far from home?"

"I . . ."

Anna felt her cheeks turn red, her eyes moving downcast of their own accord.

Andersen nodded. "I see. I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Anna responded, not looking up. "I . . . I never even knew my real parents. Just bounced around from foster home to foster home." She shook her head. "In America, boys in my situation have football or basketball as their way to a better life. Me . . . Clumsy, awkward me, I just . . . I just studied, and studied, and studied and . . . And I was selected to come here."

Andersen raised an eyebrow. "But why Arendelle of all places? Surely if you wanted to go a European university, there are far more obvious choices. Oxford, for example."

"I . . ."

Anna looked up, looking Andersen in the eye. "I wanted to come here because . . . because I wanted to study with _you_!"

Andersen regarded the young woman in confusion. "I . . . With _me_, Miss Reinhart?"

"Yes!"

Anna's eyes had lit up, her face filled with excitement. "When . . . When I was in middle school, I found a copy of your book at the local library. Your book on Arendelle's legends and myths and . . . and something just _told _me I had to come here! There's nothing for me in America, sir. Nothing at all. But _here, _I feel . . . I don't know, like there's a place for me. I don't know what that is yet. But . . . I was hoping that maybe you could help me find out what that is."

Andersen stood up, his gaze moving toward the window by his desk. "Miss Reinhart, this is . . . this is very difficult for me, I must admit. I believe I . . ." Finishing his drink, he turned back to the young woman seated before him. "I believe I owe you an apology. I overreacted. I lost my temper. It was . . . It was most unprofessional of me."

He picked up the paper—Anna's paper—on his desk. "It's been decades since I've read a paper like this from a student. And from a first-year student, no less . . ." He cleared his throat. "There's a reason I'm still teaching 100-level classes to undergraduates at this stage in my career, Miss Reinhart, when every other tenured professor in my department has graduate assistants to do it for them." He shook his head. "That paper of mine you unearthed. That's . . . That's the reason."

Anna frowned. "I . . . Thank you, sir, for the compliment. And the . . . the apology, but . . . I don't understand. Your paper was brilliant! Even better than your book, if I—"

Andersen held up his hand. "While I appreciate the compliments, Miss Reinhart, I'm afraid the review board doesn't see it that way." He sighed. "You have no idea what it's like in academia these days, Miss Reinhart. While so many of my colleagues consider themselves progressives of the highest order, open to any and all new ideas, in reality they are as entrenched in establishment dogma as any. Take the sciences, for example. Any man who dares postulate an alternative explanation for the development of life on this planet other than evolution is considered a nutjob. A man unfit for higher education, even though we in academia ostensibly pride ourselves on encouraging free thought and risk taking.

"That paper you found," he continued. "Yes. Yes, I wrote it. Back when I was first hired here. Back when I thought I was free to pursue my own research interests, wherever they might lead, no matter how farfetched they may seem." He poured himself another glass from the bottle. "That paper nearly cost me my career. I was hauled in before the institutional review board the day after it was published. I was forced to retract it, to denounce any insinuation that I considered that any of the myths and legends I detailed in the paper about Arendelle were in any way true." He shook his head. "A few years later, I wrote my book. That's what got me tenure. But the compromises I had to make, the way I had to write it to give the impression I thought all of it was nothing more than fancy stories and nonsense, the lies I have to tell every single day to maintain that façade . . ." He shook his head. "Sometimes, I wonder if it was worth it."

He paused, a strange expression overcoming his face. "However . . ."

Anna yelped, startled, as Andersen leaned forward, taking hold of her hand. "Do you really mean what you said, Miss Reinhart?" he asked. "Do you really believe? I mean, _really _believe?"

Anna nodded, her heart racing, a sudden thrill of exhilaration overcoming her. Without thinking, she spoke. "Yes, sir. With every fiber of my being!"

Andersen released his grip on her hand. "Wonderful." He cleared his throat, reaching into his desk. "I . . . I have a proposal for you, Miss Reinhart." Withdrawing a stack of papers, he placed them before Anna. "I would like to offer you a job."

Anna looked at him. "A . . . A job? Me?"

"Certainly," Andersen said. "Surely some extra income wouldn't hurt at all." He smiled. "I know the apartments the university offers our first-year students are hardly state-of-the-art."

Anna grimaced, memories of the frigid shower she had taken that morning washing over her. "Well, I . . . I suppose it would be nice to be able to afford a nicer place to live."

Andersen clapped his hands. "Then it's settled." He thrust a pen into Anna's hand. "If you would just sign here, please, Miss Reinhart, you will be officially hired as my research assistant."

Anna looked at him, her eyes wide. "Research assistant?"

"Exactly!"

Andersen gestured toward the window. "You said you wanted to study with me, didn't you, Miss Reinhart? Well, now is your opportunity. Frankly, you . . . _you _have inspired me, Miss Reinhart. I've wanted to prove those bastards who run this place wrong for so long, but never had anyone who truly believed to help me do so. Well, now . . ." He stroked his beard once more. "Now, together, I think we can do it! I'd even be willing to share credit with you on any discoveries we may make."

Anna's jaw dropped. "Share . . . Share credit? With me? But . . . But I'm just a first-year undergrad! Not even a graduate student! I—"

"Miss Reinhart," Andersen interrupted, holding up her paper. "I meant what I said about your writing earlier. I wouldn't be offering this to you if I didn't believe you were capable of doing the work." He tapped the pen in Anna's hand. "So. What do you say . . . partner?"

Anna's signature was on the document before Andersen had time to pick up his glass. "Wonderful," he said. "Now that that's all settled, I would like to ask you: Do you have any plans for this weekend?"

Anna thought for a moment. "I . . . Um, well, not really. Especially not since next week is spring break and there are no classes." She looked at Andersen with excited inquisitiveness. "What do you have in mind?"

Andersen opened his mouth to speak, his voice cut off suddenly by the loud ringing emanating from the phone on his desk. He picked up the receiver. "Andersen."

He furrowed his brow. "Oh, yes. I _did _call you not that long ago about your online database. Thank you so much for returning my call."

Anna watched in silence as Andersen listened to the voice on the other end of the line. "Well, as a matter of fact," Andersen said. "I'm afraid I must apologize for wasting your time, my dear. You see, upon further reflection . . ." He looked at Anna, smiling slightly. "I've decided there's nothing in your system that reflect poorly upon me at all. Thank you for getting back with me in a timely manner." He nodded. "Yes . . . Yes, you as well. Thank you now. Goodbye."

He hung up the phone. Reaching into his desk, he withdrew another glass. "I do believe a toast is in order, Miss Reinhart," he said, filling the glass and handing it to Anna.

Anna frowned. "I . . . I'm not old enough to drink."

"We aren't in America anymore, Miss Reinhart," Andersen said, raising his own glass. "I promise I won't tell the authorities in your country."

Anna hesitated for a moment, finally lifting the glass, clinking it against Andersen's. "What exactly are we toasting, sir?"

The professor smiled. "Partnership, Miss Reinhart. Inquisitiveness. Finding the truth. Everything we went into this field for in the first place."

Anna sipped from her glass, coughing as the taste of the liquor coated her tongue. Her eyes teared up as her throat seemed to catch on fire as she swallowed. "Water . . ." she gasped. "Water!"

"Sorry, my dear," Andersen said, quickly handing her a bottle of water. The young woman guzzled down the liquid as fast as she could. "I forget how much of an acquired taste it is."

Finally able to speak again, Anna wiped her eyes. "What . . . What are we researching first, sir?"

Andersen gestured toward the window. "The North Forest." He leaned forward, his eyes practically glimmering with excitement. "How do you feel about field work, Miss Reinhart?"

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	3. Chapter 3: Guide

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Three**

**Guide**

**Friday, March 22, 2019**

**1:30 p.m.**

Andersen sat in the small restaurant, nursing his beer. The lunchtime rush had long since dwindled to a handful of remaining patrons, most of them either retired laborers squandering their pensions on drink or local business owners with the luxury of showing up to work whenever they wanted. Through the nearby window, Andersen glimpsed the towering central building of the university, the crown jewel of Arendelle's architecture. The building had once been home to the royal family of the 'Delle many, many years ago. _But, _the professor reminded himself, _that was then, and this is now. We are in the age of modernity, after all. An age when we are more enlightened than our foolish ancestors who believed in such things as honor, deference to divinely instituted authority._

As Andersen took a sip of his drink, he found his ears assaulted by a deluge of profanity from a nearby table. Glancing over, he saw two retired men—both of whom clearly should have been cut off at least three drinks ago—roaring in riotous laughter as one made an obscene gesture toward the . . . sensitive part of his anatomy. _Yes, _Andersen contemplated, shaking his head. _So much more enlightened . . ._

The professor looked at his watch, frowning. Miss Reinhart was supposed to have met him there for lunch half an hour ago for a final meal before beginning their weekend expedition. While it most certainly was not unusual for the young woman to be late to class from time to time, Andersen found himself growing more and more concerned with each passing minute. If he were honest with himself, the professor would have admitted that a mere 48 hours earlier, he would not have cared less about the young American. Now, however, things were different. Clearly, he considered, he had misjudged her. Her intellectual acumen was considerable, the audacity of her conclusions astonishing for one so young. And her unshakeable faith in the inherent certainty of their cause, with absolutely no evidence to support such conclusions, astounded him. It was, Andersen considered, as if she knew something he did not. As if she had—

The door to the restaurant burst open. Andersen looked up, happiness quickly turning to sympathy. _Oh, Miss Reinhart. What are you wearing _now_?_

Head held high, ignoring the laughs and jeers from the restaurant patrons, Anna walked through the restaurant, taking a seat at the table across from Andersen. "What do you recommend here, sir?"

Andersen sighed, taking a long, slow drink from his beer. "Um . . . Miss . . . Miss Reinhart, what . . . When I gave you my university credit card to buy clothing for our little excursion, this isn't what I had in mind."

Anna glanced at her clothing. "What? This?" She exhaled, her cheeks turning red. "Yes, well, the man behind the counter at the store was quite insistent that this is what all women in this country wear when they venture into the outdoors." She shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. 'Stupid, gullible American' here, guilty as charged. Apparently, I'm the only one not in on the joke. I found that out walking here from the store. You wouldn't believe how _rude _some people can be . . ."

Andersen set his glass on the table, looking at the young woman intently. She had purchased boots, as he had advised, but as for the rest of the ensemble . . .

Anna brushed the long, violet cloak she wore out of the way of her arm, trying her best to appear utterly confident in herself. The trousers and shirt she had selected were much more suited for some picture postcard ideal of what an American would think appropriate for a European city, as if Europe was hermetically sealed from the outside world, had never discovered polyester and other artificial fabrics. Her light brown hair flowed about her frame as she brushed the sleeve of her dark blue shirt. "Oh, well. Live and learn, I guess."

Andersen frowned. "As soon as we eat, we're going back to the store. I'll have quite a bit to say to the man who sold you this, let me assure you, Miss Reinhart. We'll get you something a little more twenty-first century—"

"No."

Anna held up her hand. "I mean, no, thank you, Dr. Andersen. First of all, I'm a big girl, and I can live with the consequences of my choices. Also, I . . ." She blushed slightly. "I . . . I kind of like it, actually. It feels . . . I don't know . . . _right _somehow."

Before Andersen could object, Anna grabbed the menu off the table. "So . . . What do you recommend?"

Andersen sighed. "The roast chicken is quite good in my opinion, Miss Reinhart."

"Perfect!"

Anna set the menu down, gesturing toward the waitress. The middle-aged woman meandered to their table, her brow furrowed as she regarded Anna's clothing. "What's with the getup, love?" she asked. "The 'Delle Heritage Fest ain't fer another six months, yeh know."

"Yes," Andersen said, silencing Anna with his eyes. "She's just . . . trying it out. Wants to see the reaction she gets. She wants to enter the annual costume contest, and she's trying to make sure she has the details historically accurate." He leaned in toward the waitress. "She's a bit obsessive on that, if you ask me."

The waitress nodded as Anna smiled awkwardly. "Aw. That's . . . That's sweet, love." She raised an eyebrow as she studied Anna's clothing. "Not bad. Though yeh may want to add some gold embroidery 'round the crocus on yer cloak, love. No lady of the 'Delle would be caught dead without that."

Anna and Andersen regarded the waitress with mild astonishment. "Thank . . . Thank you," Anna stammered weakly, unsure of what else to say.

The waitress smiled. "Aw, 'tis me pleasure, love. Anythin' teh help a pretty little thing like you."

Anna was asking questions before Andersen could stop her. "So . . . So, if you don't mind, I mean . . . I mean, I'm not really from around here, and I . . . I was wondering if you know anything about . . . you know, Arendelle's legends. Especially about . . . About the North Forest."

The waitress laughed. "'Legends'? Is that what they're callin' em these days, now?" She turned to Andersen. "American?"

The professor nodded. The waitress looked at Anna again. "Well, love, they ain't so much as 'legends' as they are what yeh'd call 'superstitions.' I don't think yeh'd want teh waste yer time on 'em—"

"Please!"

Anna was leaning forward now, excitedly. "I've . . . I've read about them, but it's not the same as actually hearing them from an actual Arendellian."

_What are you doing? _Andersen mouthed to Anna over the waitress's shoulder.

_Research! _Anna mouthed back quickly as the waitress closed her eyes, deep in thought.

The waitress opened her eyes. "Well, love. That's the big one, ain't it?" She paused, inhaling slowly. "Now, I heard from me grandmother, who heard from _her _grandmother that the North Forest is home teh the Lady in White."

Anna's eyes brightened. "The . . . The Lady in White? I've . . . I've heard about her. Who . . . Who is she?"  
The waitress shrugged. "Who can say, love? No one knows who she is, or where she comes from. No one's ever really _seen _her, fer that matter. That's why some . . ." She glared at the pair of retired gentlemen at the table across the room, their eyes closed in slumber, drink finally securing its victory. "Some say she doesn't exist at all. Yet that doesn't explain why no one—and I mean, _no one_—ever goes in the North Forest, now, does it? Nor does it explain why even after all this time, after all the modern development of the 'Delle, that the North Forest is untouched. 'S almost as if something . . . or some_one _is watchin' over the Forest, keepin' it safe from any who try teh hunt there, who try teh exploit it."

Anna was now totally enraptured. "Do . . . Do you think she's real?"

A far-off look appeared in the waitress's eyes for the briefest of moments. The moment passed, and the waitress laughed. "Aw, love. Do I look like the sentimental type, teh yeh? She's a story, nothin' more, love." The waitress raised her pen, bringing it to the pad in her hand. "Now . . . What'll the two of yeh be havin' now?"

* * *

"She didn't mean that."

Andersen glanced at the young woman seated in the passenger seat of his van. "Who?"

Anna pointed over her shoulder. "The waitress back there. She . . . She doesn't really think it's just a story."

Andersen nodded. "No, she doesn't. I had the same sense from her as well."

He turned his eyes back to the road, the vehicle making its way northward, the late afternoon sunlight shining brightly to its left. "Still, it's not like anyone these days is going to come out and say what they actually believe in this regard, now, are they? Look at what happened to me, after all. No one wants to be branded a lunatic, Miss Reinhart. That fear is universal, it seems."

Anna started as a loud belch emanated from the exhaust pipe. "How . . . How old is this thing again, sir?"

Andersen smiled indignantly. "I'll have you know, Miss Reinhart, she is a classic, thank you very much." He fell silent for a moment. "Thirty years or so, I think."

Another loud sound caused Anna to glance backward nervously. "That's . . . That's a long time for a car to run, isn't it?"

Andersen laughed. "Oh, Miss Reinhart. We're on an adventure, after all. What's an adventure without a little unpredictability?"

"I don't mind adventure," Anna replied, folding her arms. "I just don't want to die in a fiery explosion before we _get _there . . ."

"Relax." Andersen smiled. "Almost there, Miss Reinhart."

Anna frowned as she squinted. "I . . . I don't understand. The road just . . . stops up ahead."

To her surprise, Andersen didn't slow down. Rather, he continued the van's steady pace.

"Sir?"

Anna looked at Andersen, her face lined with concern. "Sir, the road ends. Sir? Dr. Andersen? Are . . . Are you going to stop—"

Anna cried out in surprise as, with a loud _thunk_, the van left the smoothness of the pavement and continued moving forward on the dirt road before them.

"Sorry," Andersen apologized. "Forgot the shocks need replaced. Had I known we were going to do this sooner, I would have done that before our trip."

"Uhhh . . ."

Anna's stomach was growing queasy from the constant bumping and thumping rocking the van from the uneven road. "I _knew _I shouldn't have had dessert . . ."

"Chin up, Miss Reinhart," Andersen said. "Not far now."

"That's . . . what you said . . . twenty minutes ago!" Anna protested, her stomach turning somersaults in her abdomen.

"Ah!"

Anna cried out as she lurched forward, thankful that the seatbelt which appeared to have been retrofitted to the vehicle managed to restrain her from smashing against the glove compartment.

"This is it, Miss Reinhart!" Andersen said, clapping his hands. He applied the parking brake, turning off the van. "We're here!"

"Ohhh . . ."

Anna's face was white, her legs shaking, as she carefully, delicately exited the van, thankful to at last be standing on solid ground once more. "Maybe . . . Maybe I should drive home . . ."

Andersen smiled, ignoring her. Pulling a stocking cap over his balding head, he gestured toward the shack before them. "This is it. This is where we pick up our guide."

Anna looked at the building, rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn't imagining things. "Are . . . Are you _serious_? This . . . This isn't a house! It's . . . It's a nightmare!"

The professor placed a finger over her lips. "Mind your manners, Miss Reinhart. Yes, I admit it's a little unorthodox, but our man likes to live . . . I believe the term these days is 'off the grid.' He's a little gruff, and a little uncivilized. But trust me, Miss Reinhart. Steven Bjorgman is the only man to guide us through the North Forest."

Anna looked at Andersen, confused. "I . . . I thought the waitress at the restaurant said no one went in there. That no one _ever _goes in the Forest."

The professor shrugged. "As far as most people know, that's true. But Bjorgman has. Many times." He stroked his beard. "I know. He took me there once."

Anna gasped. "Wait. Wait a minute. You . . . _You've _been in the North Forest before? And you're just now getting around to telling me this?"

Andersen nodded. "How do you think I did research for my paper, Miss Reinhart?"

Anna's mind was moving a mile a minute. "Did . . . Did you see anything? Did you see the Lady? Have you known all this the entire time and never—"

"No and no," Andersen responded. "It was a long time ago, and, to my profound disappointment, the only thing I saw that weekend was a small herd of reindeer."

"Oh."

Anna's excitement faded into an expression of profound disappointment. "But . . . But there's got to be something here! I . . . I just _know _it!"

Before Andersen could inquire as to just what Anna meant by that, the door to the house opened. The silhouette of a tall man stood in the doorway, his frame illuminated by what appeared to be a handful of candlelit lamps behind him.

"Ah, Steven!" Andersen said, stepping forward. "So nice to see you again! Thank you for agreeing to—"

The professor stopped speaking abruptly as he regarded the man before him. "You . . . You're not Steven."

"That's right," the man said. "Sorry to disappoint you, Pops."

Wordlessly, the man stepped out of the doorway, his heavy boots stomping as he made his way to the rear of the van. Opening the door, he smiled. "Oh, yes!"

"Wait . . . Wait a minute!" Andersen said, hurrying toward the man, Anna right behind him. "Just who the hell are you, young man? Where's Steven Bjorgman?"

The man ignored him. Wordlessly, he opened one of the large cases in the back of the van. "Still cold," he muttered to himself. Reaching into the case, he withdrew a bottle of beer. With a flick of his thumb, he popped off the bottlecap, guzzling the contents in one, long swallow.

He tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder, his eyes moving toward Anna. The shaggy blonde hair on his head bobbed up and down as he laughed. "What are you supposed to be, exactly? Is there a costume party I don't know about?"

"Hey!"

Anna stepped forward, her eyes filled with indignation. "Look, buddy, I don't know who you think you are! That beer is for our guide, thank you very much, and—"

"You're welcome."

The man retrieved another bottle from the case, opening it in similar fashion. "Eight cases, right? Plus three cases of peach schnapps. Just like we agreed for a down payment."

Andersen leaned forward, eyes widening in recognition. "Wait . . . You're . . . You're Steven's boy, aren't you? Kristoff!"

"Yup."

The man took a swig of beer, wiping his lips with his sleeve. "The one and only, Pops."

Anna regarded the shaggy, unkempt, uncouth man before her, realizing he was, at most, six, maybe seven years older than her. "Wait . . . Wait a minute," she said, looking at Andersen in confusion. "What happened to—"

"Heart attack."

Kristoff's voice was flat, emotionless. "Two years ago. Damn shame. Never sick a day in his life, and then, one day, he just . . ."

Andersen removed his stocking cap. "I . . . I'm sorry, son. I . . . I didn't know. When I called your father's phone and you answered, I . . . I just assumed . . ." He shook his head. "You sound just like him on the phone."

"Thanks for that," Kristoff said. He looked at Anna. "Who's this, Pops? You didn't say anything about bringing a friend. Is this your daughter? Or . . . well . . ."

Anna sputtered at the insinuation. "I . . . What did you . . . How _dare_ you—"

"She's my student," Andersen said, his voice low.

"Right."

Kristoff nodded. "That's my bad," he said. "Dad always said don't ask questions. Bad for business and all. And he was right. It's none of my business, anyway. You want me to guide you, not to ask questions, after all." He took another swig of beer. "Does the student have a name?"

"Reinhart," Anna responded, her eyes shooting invisible daggers at the young man. "Anna Reinhart."

"AH-na?"

Kristoff rolled his eyes. "What's with the pronunciation? You don't sound like you're from Arendelle. If anything, I'd guess American."

"Why does everyone around here just _know _that?!" Anna groaned, throwing up her hands. "Is it that obvious?"

Kristoff patted the door of the van. "Yeah. It kind of is. Anyway, saddle up, 'AH-na.' I need help carrying all this inside . . ."

His voice trailed off as he stared at Anna's face, the setting sun finally at the correct angle to illuminate her features. "Hmm . . ." he muttered to himself.

"What?" Anna asked, crossing her arms. "What are you looking at? Hey, I'm talking to you here!"

Kristoff shook his head. "Never mind." He gestured toward the small building that was his home. "Help me take these to the cellar. Quickly, so we can get moving while there's still daylight."

Anna and Andersen looked at one another, each of them grabbing a case of beer. Wordlessly, they followed Kristoff, past the piles of unwashed clothes, dirty dishes, and empty beer bottles littering the floor.

"Here," Kristoff said, opening a small door in the floor. "Down here."

Moving carefully, the trio descended down a small stairway into the cellar. "Brrr!" Anna whispered involuntarily. "Why . . . Why is it so cold in here? Is this some sort of natural phenomenon?"

Andersen shrugged. The young woman turned to Kristoff, squinting to make out his features in the dim light of the lantern he held. "Seriously, what did you do? Climb the mountains and bring down a whole bunch of ice?"

Kristoff looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. Let's go with that."

Anna set down the case of beer, straining to see in the darkened cellar. "Where's the ice then? I can't see—"

Kristoff sighed. "Look, 'AH-na.' We have three, _maybe _four hours of daylight left if we're lucky. Now, you two are welcome to make yourselves at home upstairs for the night . . ."

Anna and Andersen looked at one another, their shared expressions of discomfort evident even in the darkness of the cellar.

"That's what I thought," Kristoff said, laughing. "Or, we can unload my down payment in a timely fashion and get far enough into the Forest that we can set up camp before nightfall." He shrugged. "It's your choice."

As the young man made his way upstairs, Anna grabbed Andersen's shoulder. "Tell me there's someone else we can hire. He can't really be our only option. Can he?"

Andersen sighed. "The Bjorgman men have watched over the North Forest for generations now, Miss Reinhart. If you want the best . . ." He gestured up the stairs. "He's it."

Anna groaned as she saw Kristoff set himself down on a well-worn chair, popping the cork on a bottle of schnapps, drinking straight from the bottle. "Great," she muttered under her breath as she began the trek up the stairs back out to the van. "Just great . . ."

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	4. Chapter 4: Discoveries

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Four**

**Discoveries**

**Saturday, March 23, 2019**

"Mmhh."

Anna stretched her arms, the morning sunlight gently streaming across her face from the opening in the screened door of her tent, its warmth prodding her out of slumber and into wakefulness. Yawning, she opened her eyes, blinking as she began to focus upon her surroundings—

"Aaaaahh!"

"Morning, sunshine."

Now wide awake, Anna hurled the small pillow she had packed at the young man standing over her. "Don't _do _that!" she yelled, her heart beating furiously within her chest. "What is wrong with you?!"

Kristoff smiled wickedly. "Sorry, AH-na," he said, deliberately overemphasizing the first syllable of her name, enjoying the fact that doing so irritated her to no end. "But Pops told me to wake you up. Daylight's a-wasting and all. Lots to do today while you still have me in your employ."

"Don't remind me," Anna muttered under her breath. Pulling herself out of her sleeping bag, she stood, untangling her cloak. "Oh, I feel terrible," she grumbled, blinking her eyes. "I feel like I slept on a rock all night."

Kristoff brought his boot down upon her sleeping bag, splattering mud everywhere in the process. He felt around for a moment. "Hmm." He turned back to Anna. "That's because you did."

"Great."

Anna reached for her boots as Kristoff stepped out of the tent. "Oh," the guide said, turning back to face her. "You might want to check your boots before you put them on. It's not unusual for insects and other lovely things to crawl in them in the middle of the night."

As Kristoff exited the tent, Anna stuck her tongue out at him behind his back. "'You might wanna check your boots,'" she muttered under her breath in her best impression of his voice. Making sure Kristoff was out of her line of sight, she quickly held her boots outside the door of the tent, turning them upside down. To her relief, nothing emerged. She quickly laced up her boots and grabbed her phone, stuffing it into the pocket of her trousers.

Andersen and Kristoff were seated by the small circle where they had lit their fire the night before. Sitting next to the professor, Anna turned to her mentor. "How did _you _sleep last night, sir?"

"Never better," Andersen replied. "God, it's been so long since I've spent the night in the outdoors. I feel like a new man, Miss Reinhart." He looked at the young woman, noting the dark circles under her eyes, her disheveled hair. "And yourself?"

Before Anna could reply, Kristoff shoved a protein bar into her hand. "Here," he said. "Have some breakfast."

Anna looked down at the protein bar, disappointment evident on her face. "_This_ . . . is breakfast?" Her gaze turned toward the remains of last night's fire. "Why can't we make a hot breakfast?" She glared at Kristoff. "Didn't you pack, I don't know, pancake mix or something?"

"Nope."

Kristoff smiled as he unwrapped his protein bar. "We're going for low impact here, Anna. The less we draw attention to ourselves, the better. Especially since the wolves are trying to claim this for their territory again."

"Wolves?"

Anna looked at Andersen, her face filled with worry. "You didn't tell me there were wolves here, sir."

"Relax," Kristoff said, taking a large bite from his protein bar. "As long as you do what I say, they won't have any idea we're here. The bastards keep trying to make their way in here every now and then, but we've taken care of them before."

Anna raised an eyebrow. "'We'? Who's 'we,' exactly?"

For the briefest of moments, Kristoff's face revealed an expression of worry, as if he had inadvertently admitted to more than he had intended. "Oh, look at the time," he said, glancing at his watch. "8:30. Lots to do today if you want to maximize your research time."

Anna's eyes widened as she saw Kristoff's watch, clearly visible for the first time since she had met him in the morning sun. "Wait a minute. Is that . . . Is that an Omega?!"

Kristoff looked at his watch. "Um . . . Yeah. Why? You a watch expert or something?"

Anna looked at the young man, trying her best to keep her jaw from hanging open in astonishment. "Let me get this straight. You mean to tell me that you live in an absolute hovel . . . no offense."

"None taken," Kristoff responded, shrugging his shoulders.

"You live in a hovel," Anna continued. "You drive that . . . that rickety old thing you call a truck you brought us here in last night, and yet . . . yet you can afford an _Omega_?!"

Kristoff chewed his protein bar nonchalantly. "Yup. Bought it a couple of years ago. Wanted one ever since my dad took me to see _Casino Royale _when it came out in theaters." He grinned. "What can I say? Daniel Craig is a badass as Bond."

Anna suddenly felt her appetite evaporate completely. "You . . . You realize that that watch costs almost as much as a semester of tuition at a major university, don't you?"

Kristoff glanced down at the watch. "Then it's a good thing I'm not planning to matriculate anywhere, now, isn't it, AH-na?"

Anna turned to Andersen. "Help me out here, please!"

Andersen stroked his beard. "I must say, son. Miss Reinhart makes a good point. Not that it's any of our business, but just how can you afford something so . . . extravagant?"

Kristoff folded the wrapper of his protein bar, putting it in his pocket. "Not that it's any of your business," he repeated. "But, since I've got a feeling you won't leave me alone about it the rest of the trip, I'll tell you." He sighed. "Before King Tyrell, the last king of Arendelle, dissolved the monarchy, he assigned his youngest son to watch over the North Forest. Made it clear it was the duty of every firstborn son of his bloodline to continue the tradition. And in compensation for the sacrifices his descendants would make in obeying him, Tyrell established a trust fund of sorts. A number of investments spread into numerous banks across Europe, even into America. Stocks. Bonds. I don't know all the details." He smiled. "All I know is that that fund has survived two world wars, the Cold War, countless geopolitical uprisings across the globe over the past two centuries." He rubbed his chin. "I don't care about the details. All I care about is that, twice a year, I have to send Dad's . . . _my _phone's tracking data to some server somewhere. Two weeks later, so long as my phone shows I've consistently been spending my time by the Forest, I get my check."

Andersen coughed. "What's . . . What's your rate of return? The interest rate, I mean."

Kristoff leaned forward, whispering into Andersen's ear. The professor's face grew pale. "No! Son of a bitch . . ."

Anna shook her head. "But . . . But if you can afford that watch, surely you can afford to build a nicer house. Buy a nicer truck."

Kristoff glared at her, shaking his head. "Who says I _want _those things, Anna?"

Anna sighed. "Whatever." She rose, tying a scarf around her neck in an effort to fight the early morning chill. "I thought you said we were wasting daylight. So . . . Why are we still here?"

* * *

"You sure you want to do this, Pops?"

Kristoff turned to Andersen, gesturing toward the shadowy woods ahead. The trio had been hiking for nearly two hours, and so far had encountered nothing out of the ordinary.

Andersen nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do. Your father never took me this deep into the Forest the last time I was here. I want to know what's in there."

Kristoff rubbed his brow. "Hey, it's your money, Pops. I just thought I'd give you the chance to change your mind. Once you go in, I can't guarantee you're going to like what you might find."

"Hey, I'm here too, you know! I have a say in this!"

Kristoff grimaced. "Yes. How could I forget, AH-na?"

Anna crossed her arms. "What do you mean, you can't guarantee we'll like what we might find'? What's in there?" Her eyes grew wide. "Is it . . . Is it something _magical_?!"

Kristoff rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Look, I'm happy to take you wherever you want. It's just that this part of the Forest isn't as safe as the rest. We're entering its heart. The trees are closer together. The sky's darker. The ground is a little more dangerous. That's all."

Andersen looked at Anna. "It's your call, Miss Reinhart."

Anna returned the professor's gaze. "Are you kidding? Of course we're going in there!"

"Suit yourself," Kristoff said. "Try to keep up. I don't like being held back when I'm hiking."

"I am _not _holding anybody back, thank you very much," Anna grumbled as she and Andersen followed Kristoff.

As the trio pressed forward, Anna realized, however loathe she was to admit it, that Kristoff had been right. It _was _darker. It _was _most difficult terrain. Even with her boots, at times she had trouble maintain her footing as she followed Andersen and Kristoff across moss-covered rocks, the slippery substance nearly causing her to lose her balance on more than one occasion.

Anna glanced at her phone. 11:15 a.m. "We've been hiking for a long time now," she said. "Surely there's got to be _something _in here by now—"

"Shh!"

Anna grimaced as Andersen shoved his hand over her mouth. Kristoff had frozen, his eyes wide. Hardly moving, the guide glanced about, his head turning ever-so-slowly as he listened to the sounds of the Forest, sounds he knew very well indeed.

"What is it?" Andersen whispered, stepping forward gingerly. "What's wrong?"

After several more tense seconds, Kristoff relaxed. "Nothing," he said, adjusting the pack upon his shoulders. "Nothing at all."

"That didn't seem like 'nothing' to me," Anna muttered. "What are you so scared of, anyway?"

Kristoff ignored her. "Pops," he whispered. He pointed ahead to his right. "I found you something."

Andersen leaned forward, his eyes growing wide. "It . . . It can't be!"

"What?" Anna asked, straining to see what the two men were talking about. "What is it?"

"Come on, Miss Reinhart!"

Kristoff, Andersen, and Anna moved forward through the late morning mist that had begun to settle upon the Forest. Peering through the haziness, Anna gasped as she realized what she was looking at. "Tents!" she whispered excitedly. "Old, old tents!"

Andersen's eyes were wild with excitement. He reached into his pack, retrieving a professional-grade digital camera. "Yes, Miss Reinhart!" he exclaimed, his hands shaking as he adjusted the lens. "Dear God in Heaven, I never thought I'd see this!"

"What is it?" Anna asked. Realization dawned on her. "Oh. _Oh! _Do . . . Do you think it's—"

"The Northuldra," Andersen stated. "This . . . This looks to be the remains of their camp."

Anna and Andersen strode forward, Kristoff slowly following behind. The two academics were a flurry of activity, their minds immediately getting to work analyzing, studying the old structures.

"Look, Miss Reinhart," Andersen said, pointing to the largest tent. "This has to be the chief's dwelling. What's left of it, at least." He brought his camera to his eye, his finger snapping shot after shot after shot.

Anna, for her part, noted that the tents were aligned in a circular pattern, forming a perimeter around what appeared to be a large firepit. "They . . . They must have used the tents as a barrier against any potential enemies," she conjectured. "They're close enough together that any invading force would have to move single file to penetrate into the center of the camp. Making it all the more difficult for a force to overwhelm the Northuldra in one fell swoop."

"Good, Miss Reinhart," Andersen said, nodding, impressed with his student's observations.

Anna turned, moving toward the tent to the right of the chief's dwelling. Retrieving her phone, she began snapping photos of her own with her phone's camera. "Hey. Sir! Look at this."

Andersen was by her side in an instant, his brow furrowed with curiosity as he stared at the symbols painted on the side of the tent. "Interesting," he muttered. "So my theory was true, after all."

Anna nodded. "It seems . . . It seems that way," she said. "Look."

Her hand came to rest on the old, leathery fabric. "Four symbols, arranged in a diamond pattern."

"The four elements," Andersen whispered. "Earth. Fire. Air. Water."

Anna inhaled. "In . . . In your book, you wrote that the Northuldra worshipped the natural elements. That they believed the divine could be found all around them."

Andersen stroked his beard once more, his mind deep in thought. "That's . . . That's one possibility," he said. "Of course, we'll never know, will we? At the very least, this evidence makes it clear the elements were central to their lives."

Anna glanced back toward Kristoff, noting that the young man was simply sitting by the remains of the firepit, apparently disinterested in their archaeological find. "Did . . . Did you know this was here?" Anna asked.

Kristoff nodded.

Anna clenched her hands. "And . . . And you didn't tell us?"

"You didn't ask," Kristoff said, his voice flat.

Anna frowned. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if we can trust you, Mr. Bjorgman. You sure seem to be keen on keeping secrets from us. Or at the very least, not telling us the whole truth—"

"Miss Reinhart!"

Anna turned back toward Andersen, expecting to receive a stern lecture on how she should be much nicer in her treatment of their guide. Instead, Andersen gestured toward the symbols on the canvas. "Look closer!"

Anna leaned forward as Andersen removed a cigarette lighter from his pocket. He held the flame from the lighter close to the tent, careful not to set it ablaze.

"What . . . What is it?" Anna asked.

"Look," Andersen whispered. "Do you see? It's . . . It's very faint, but . . ."

Anna gasped as she realized what Andersen was trying to show her. "There's . . . There's a fifth symbol!"

"Yes," Andersen replied. "In the center of the pattern."

Anna squinted, trying to make out just what the crude drawing was supposed to represent. "It . . . It looks . . . It looks almost like . . ." She frowned. "Like . . . a snowflake?"

Andersen nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Miss Reinhart. I think you're right."

_Snow, _Anna thought to herself. _Ice. Why . . . Why does that seem so—_

Anna turned back toward Kristoff. "What happened to them? The Northuldra. Do . . . Do you know?"

Kristoff rose, folding his arms. "My grandfather told me _his_ grandfather told him the last of them passed when he was very young. A terrible plague wiped them out. They were unprepared for it. They didn't have the medicines to deal with something of that magnitude." He shook his head. "Again. A damn shame."

Anna opened her mouth to inquire more from Kristoff, but stopped. Her cheeks became very, very red. "I . . . I, um . . . I need to go off by myself for a couple of minutes."

"Not a good idea," Kristoff said. "Look, Anna, I know I've been kind of an asshole so far, and I'm sorry, but I can't let you just—"

"You don't understand," Anna said. She turned to Andersen. "I have to . . . you know . . ."

"Oh."

Andersen cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. I suppose Kristoff and I can just—"

"No!"

Anna shook her head. "I . . . I need _privacy_!" She turned toward the cluster of woods just beyond the circle of tents. "Look, just give me a few minutes. I'll have my phone with me. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

Before Andersen or Kristoff could object, Anna stomped forward. Her eyes darted about, searching for some sort of secluded location where she could have some time alone. "There," she whispered to herself. "That should do it."

She jogged forward, looking behind her to make certain she was alone. She reached for her belt, her hand upon the leather, when she froze.

"What was that?"

Her eyes darted about, her ears straining. She was certain she had heard something. Something soft, yet present nonetheless.

The rustling sound returned. Her heart pounding in her chest, Anna stood unmoving as several leaves lying on the ground began to suddenly swirl about of their own accord.

_What . . . What?!_

The leaves began dancing faster before her now, moving impossibly fast, in a pattern that Anna knew, despite her limited experience in the wilderness, was most certainly _not _natural. Slowly, carefully, she withdrew her phone from her pocket. As quietly as she could, she switched her phone's camera mode to "video" and pressed the "record" button.

"Saturday, March 23, 2019," she whispered into the phone's microphone. "I . . . I'm standing in a small cluster of trees in the North Forest, past the remains of the Northuldra camp. I . . . I don't know what this is, so I . . . I just . . ."

She held the phone up, framing the dancing leaves within the camera's screen. She shrieked slightly as the leaves suddenly darted toward her. Before she could react, she could feel the wind moving about her, circling her, moving between her legs, around her waist, around her head, almost as if it were . . . as if it were _studying _her.

Panic turned to interest as Anna realized that whatever she was witnessing was not interested in attacking her. Rather, it seemed almost . . . pleased with her presence. "I . . . Hello," Anna said softly, trying her best not to sound like an idiot. Her hands shaking, she held her phone up, recording the strange phenomenon.

The leaves trapped within the wind's embrace rustled as the wind moved closer, hovering right before her eyes. Anna smiled in spite of herself as one of the leaves was released by the wind's grasp, coming to rest gently upon her arm.

"My . . . My name is Anna," she said. _Great! I'm talking to leaves now!_

The wind bobbed up and down, swirling faster as her name left her tongue. "What . . . What are you?" Anna whispered.

In the back of her mind, a single word moved to the forefront of her consciousness: _Gale_.

_Where . . . Where did _that _come from?_

The leaves fell to the ground as the wind suddenly darted away to Anna's left. "Hey!" Anna cried out. "Come . . . Come back!"

The young woman shoved her phone in her pocket as she took off after the apparently sentient breeze. Anna ran as fast as she could, jumping over rocks and fallen tree limbs, trying to keep pace with the wind. "Wait!" she called out. "Wait—"

She cried out as she lost her footing. Groaning in pain, she rolled down a small hill, coming to rest in a secluded glade beneath the embankment. "Ow!"

Anna pulled herself to her feet, thankful that, miraculously, nothing appeared to be broken. Her heart began to pound within her chest as she realized in her impulsive quest to catch the breeze, she had lost her bearings entirely. Her hand shaking both from the chill that had suddenly come over the Forest, as well as her own fear, she held up her phone. Her stomach began turning somersaults again as she realized she had no signal whatsoever.

_Great! What do I do _now_?!_

Shivering, she pulled her scarf over her face, stepping forward into the glade. She inhaled sharply as she realized just why she was so cold all of a sudden. Standing before her were dozens, perhaps a hundred, of ice sculptures. In spite of the late March temperatures, the sculptures did not appear to be melting at all. Rather, they stood perfectly formed, as if the calendar read January rather than nearly April.

Anna walked around the glade, marveling at the ethereal beauty of the sculptures. She gasped as she beheld animals of all different shapes and sizes—birds, rodents, reindeer—as well as icy replicas of all manner of flowers. Her eyes widened as she saw a number of sculptures in the shape of people, each a work of art in and of itself. It was as if the sculptor, whoever they were, had somehow, someway, captured the very essence of the subject and encased them in ice for all eternity.

As the noonday sun broke through the canopy of trees overhead, Anna frowned beneath her scarf as she saw a sculpture in the center of the glade. Stepping forward, she narrowed her eyes. The sculpture was of a young woman, not much older, Anna speculated, than herself. Its hair was formed in two even braids on either side of the face, the clothing a dress not dissimilar in style from the style and cut of the cloak she now wore. Anna leaned forward, squinting through the sun to try to make out the face's features when—

_Growl!_

Slowly, carefully, Anna turned her head to her right, panic washing over her as she saw—

_Wolves!_

Anna reacted on pure instinct. Before she realized what was happening, she was running as fast as she could through the thick blanket of trees surrounding the glade, a half dozen grey wolves hot on her tail. She tried to scream for help, for Andersen, for Kristoff even, but the words wouldn't form in her throat, so extreme was her terror. Certain her heart was about to explode from the exertion, she ran and ran and ran, not stopping for anything, not daring to look behind her—

"Ah!"

She slipped, falling flat on her face, her cheek slamming hard into the ground. She tried to stand, but her right foot was trapped between two large rocks. Screaming in abject terror, she tried with all her might to free her limb, but the more she struggled, the more her foot seemed to burrow itself between the rocks.

The wolves were upon her now, moving slowly around her, circling her, teeth bared, their hot breath so close she could _feel _it even beneath the scarf on her face. Barely able to control her hands, Anna managed to reach into her pack, withdrawing a flare Andersen had given her in case they became separated and needed a way to signal one another. Lighting it, she waved it about desperately. "Stay . . . Stay back!" she cried.

One of the beta males lunged forward. With a cry, Anna thrust the flare into the beast's eye. Howling in pain, blinded by the unexpected attack, the wolf ran off, disappearing deep into the Forest.

The other wolves backed away, realizing their quarry was not as easily conquered as they had expected. The alpha stepped forward slowly, regarding Anna carefully, deliberately. Anna reached for the flare, her heart sinking as she realized the flame had gone out. _No!_

Sensing her weakness, the alpha moved closer. Growling, he coiled his muscles, prepared to spring upon her.

Realizing her situation was hopeless, Anna closed her eyes, sensing the wolf lunge toward her. _Please! Let it be over soon!_

A scream of pain filled Anna's ears. Opening her eyes, she realized, much to her surprise, that she was still alive. Glancing about, she looked upon the scene in wonderment and confusion. The wolves had moved away from her, closing formation around a new figure that had appeared.

A stream of blue and silver light emanated from the figure. One of the wolves was hurled twenty feet away, its body slamming into a tree, falling unmoving to the ground. Squinting, trying to see, Anna saw wind swirl about the figure, surrounding it with dust and dirt, making it impossible for either Anna or the wolves to see what was attacking.

"Get . . . _out_!"

A cry emanated from the figure as a circle of blue and silver energy exploded from the figure at the center of the cyclone. The trees of the wood were instantly coated in a thin layer of ice and frost. The remaining wolves were hurled backward, icicles nearly impaling them from the force of the blast. Terrified, recognizing they had been defeated, they retreated.

Anna froze, unmoving, as the cyclone faded away. The figure at the center of the wind stepped toward her, slowly, deliberately. Certain she was hallucinating, Anna gasped as she felt a cool, yet gentle touch, upon her foot.

"Here."

Carefully, the figure dislodged Anna's foot from between the rocks. Able to move once more, Anna backed away, her hands pushing her backwards, until her back came to rest against a large boulder. "I . . . I . . ."

The fear coursing through Anna disappeared as the figure knelt before her. Anna gasped in astonishment as she stared into eyes bluer than any she had ever seen before. The figure was female, pale skin marred by nary a blemish surrounded by long, platinum blonde hair. Dressed all in white, the woman, Anna realized, was perfection personified.

"What are you doing here?"

The woman's voice was gentle, yet firm. "Why are you in my forest?"

Anna swallowed, trying to find the words to respond. "I . . . I . . . I'm a student. At the . . . At the university. I . . . I came here with my professor and . . . and our guide. We . . ." She looked at the woman, realization dawning on her. "You . . . You're _her_! The . . . The Lady in White!"

Upon hearing that title, the woman froze for a moment. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes. That is what they call me. I . . ."

To Anna's surprise, the Lady's face filled with confusion. "Your eyes," she said softly. "They . . . They look so familiar. I . . . No . . . That's . . . That's impossible . . ."

Anna flinched as the Lady's hand moved to her cheek. Carefully, the Lady pulled Anna's scarf from her face. As the Lady beheld the young woman's features, she inhaled sharply, her eyes wide, her face even paler somehow.

"A– . . . _Anna_?!"

Anna shrieked as the Lady in White collapsed, unconscious, to the ground. Pulling herself beside her unconscious rescuer, Anna shook her shoulders. "Lady? Hello? Hello?"

Alone, with only the passed-out Lady to accompany her, Anna shook her head. "Well, that's nice. What . . . What do I do _now_?!"

* * *

**AN: Thank you so much for the reviews and follows. More to come!**


	5. Chapter 5: Interview

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Five**

**Interview**

_ "I'm . . . I'm so sorry, Anna! I've failed you . . . again! You're about to die now, and there's nothing I can do to stop it!"_

_ "Of course there isn't. You didn't 'fail' me, Elsa. This is the natural order of things. How things are supposed to happen. Please, stop blaming yourself for things beyond your control."_

_ "I . . . I can't! There's got to be something I could have done! What good is all my power, all my magic, immortality if I can't save the one person I love more than anything else in the world?"_

_ "I'll be fine, Elsa. I promise. Please, promise me you'll move on. Please, turn the page. My story may be ending, but yours keeps going. And I'm so excited to see what the next chapter in your story will be, Elsa. Wherever I end up, whatever waits for me on the other side, I'll be with you. Somehow, even in ways you never expect."_

_ "Anna . . ."_

* * *

**Saturday, March 23, 2019**

Her eyes jolted open, icy pools of blue darting about as she struggled to decipher her surroundings. She was not in her home in the forest, in her secluded glade surrounded by the ice sculptures that were her sole companions, save for her fellow spirits of the Forest. Rather, she was lying on the ground, her head cushioned by something violet and soft.

"Ohmygosh! You're . . . You're awake!"

She turned toward the source of the sound, squinting as she raised her hand, peering through the sunlight streaming through the canopy above. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes finally focused, her gaze fixated upon the face of her companion. The turquoise of the eyes, the curve of the chin, the warmth radiating from the young woman's being, all were unmistakable identifiers that she was looking at none other than—

"Anna!"

She threw her arms around the young woman, pulling her close, her lips pressed firmly to her brow. She was crying now, tears streaming down her face as she cupped the young woman's cheeks in her hands. "Anna! You . . . You kept your promise! You came back to me! Oh God, Anna! I've missed you so _much _. . .!"

Her voice trailed off as she stared at the young woman's face, her elation melting away as she saw the confusion etched upon the girl's face. "Anna? What . . . What is it? What's wrong?"

She dropped her hands from the young woman's face, a terrible thought tumbling through her mind. "Anna," she whispered, dreading the answer. "Don't . . . Don't you remember me? Don't you remember your own _sister_?"

She could see the young woman's consternation deepen at her words, the girl's face now nearly white. "I . . . I'm sorry," the young woman said. "But, I . . . I think you have me confused with someone else. I . . . I've never seen you before in my life."

"No!"

She shook her head, her voice little more than a whisper. "No! Not again! Not again! It was painful enough with _him_, but this . . ." Her eyes were wet once more, not with tears of joy but with tears of soul-crushing anguish. "This is just _cruel_ . . ."

Anna watched, uncertain of what to do, as the Lady in White sobbed uncontrollably into her hands, the ground around her growing cold, frost coating the grass. Not knowing what else to do, she gently wrapped her arm around the woman's shoulder. "I . . . I'm sorry," she apologized, trying her best not to sound condescending. "I don't know who you think I am, but . . ." She sighed. "I'm not her. I'm just . . . I'm just me."

The Lady cleared her throat, forcing herself to stop crying. Turning to Anna, she smiled sadly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, young lady," she said, trying her best to look anywhere but in Anna's eyes. "I . . . I just . . . It's been so long since I've seen . . . and I thought . . ."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. Opening them again, she clutched her hands together. "I . . . I'm afraid I'm not being particularly ladylike at the moment, young one." She looked at Anna's foot. "Are you all right? Are you injured?"

Anna shook her head. "No. I . . . Wow. I don't even know what to say to you. I mean, um, I . . . Boy, this is awkward! I . . ."

She blushed nervously. "Can . . . Can I start again?"

The Lady nodded. "Please do."

Anna inhaled. "Well, I . . . Thank you. For saving my life, I mean. If you hadn't shown up, I . . . Well, I wouldn't be here talking to you, now, would I? Wait. Of course, I wouldn't be talking to you, because you wouldn't even _be_, like, 'here' here, and—"

"You're welcome."

The Lady turned her head to the left. "Of course, you really should thank Gale for letting me know you were in trouble."

Anna frowned. "Gale? Wait . . . Do you mean—"

The wind wrapped itself around Anna once more, delicately caressing her shoulder. "Whoa. That . . . That's going to take some getting used to . . ."

The young woman looked at the Lady, not even certain what to say next. "Um . . . Your Lady-ness, or . . . or whatever I'm supposed to call you—"

"Elsa."

The Lady's voice was hushed, quiet. "You . . . You can call me Elsa."

"Elsa . . ." Anna repeated, marveling at just how _right _that named seem to feel for this apparent goddess in her midst. "That . . . That's your name?"

The Lady nodded. "It was my name once. A long time ago. Back when I was . . ." Her sad smile returned. "I like hearing your voice say it. Even if you're not who I thought you were . . ."

Anna frowned. "Again, I'm sorry if I look like someone you knew once. Your . . . Your sister, you said? I wish I could say it were true, but I . . . That's not who I am."

The Lady . . . Elsa took hold of Anna's hand. "What _is_ your name, young one?"

Anna grimaced. "Well . . . My real name is Samantha. Samantha Reinhart."

"Samantha?"

Elsa frowned. "I . . . I'm sorry. I mean, it's a very nice name. I just—"

"You hate it."

Anna smiled. "It's all right. You can be honest. I hate it too. It's the name that ended up on my birth certificate. Even though, apparently, my parents didn't actually _want _me in the first place."

Elsa's eyes grew dark. "What . . . What do you mean, they didn't want you?"

Anna felt her cheeks burning again. "Well, considering I've never actually met them, and I just got dumped from foster home to foster home for as long as I can remember, I really don't have much attachment to that name at all."

Her eyes widened. "Wait . . . Wait a minute! Elsa? As in . . . Ohmygosh, Anna, how could you be so _stupid_?!"

She stood, pacing excitedly. "You're . . . You're Queen Elsa, aren't you? The one they called the Snow Queen. The one who disappeared three years into your reign, never to be seen again!" She threw up her hands. "Dr. Andersen's book! I read that thing cover to cover I don't know how many times when I was in middle school! I practically worshipped you, you know?" Her mind was filled with thousands of questions. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew her phone. "Do you mind if I record this? I mean, this . . . this is a once-in-a-lifetime interview opportunity here and—"

"Anna."

Elsa was looking at her, her eyebrow raised. "You . . . You just called yourself 'Anna,' Samantha."

"Oh."

Anna shrugged. "Yeah, about that. Considering how much I hated my name and, like I said, I didn't feel particularly attached to it, I just sort of . . . took on a new name in middle school." She frowned. "Come to think of it, I'm not really sure why I picked that name. It just sort of . . . felt right, I guess."

She shook her head. "Anyway, Lady . . . I mean, Queen Elsa. Would . . . Would you be willing to let me ask you some questions? You can say 'no' if you want. It's fine. Totally, totally fine and all, and . . . and here I am, rambling. Boy, I'm not usually this nervous, I just—"

"Yes."

Elsa brought a finger to Anna's lips. "Yes. You . . . You may ask me your questions. I . . . I would like that very much, actually."

"Really?"

Anna sat down, holding her phone before her, framing the Lady perfectly in the center of the screen. "Well, okay, Anna. Here goes. The biggest research project of your career. Don't blow this!"

She breathed, pressing the "record" button. "Um, all right. This is Anna Reinhart, interviewing the Lady in White herself, formerly Queen Elsa of Arendelle. So, um, I guess my first question, is, I don't know, tell me a bit about yourself."

Elsa looked at Anna. "Oh. Okay. Well, that's . . . That's kind of a long story, but—"

"Don't look at me!" Anna whispered.

"What?" Elsa responded, cocking her head.

"Don't look at me!" Anna repeated. "Look at the phone. Otherwise, it just looks . . . weird." _Great, Anna! _"I mean, _you _don't look weird at all! It's just that it makes the viewer feel uncomfortable when they're watching this later because they feel like you're looking past them, over their shoulder. Wait. Not that _you're _making me feel uncomfortable! I feel _totally _comfortable here and—"

"Like this?"

Elsa looked directly into the phone, her gaze poised, the picture of refinement and grace.

"Yes!" Anna whispered. "Perfect!"

"Like I said," Elsa continued. "That's . . . kind of a long story."

"I have time," Anna said, forgetting all about Andersen and Kristoff, the wolves, how long it would take to return to camp. All that mattered in that moment was being with the Lady . . . with Elsa because, like so many other decisions she had made to that point in her life, it just felt _right _. . .

* * *

"Wow!"

Anna shook her head in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that after you came back to life after being frozen in the Ahto– . . . Ahto– . . . Ahtowhatever, you became immortal?"

Elsa blushed. "I . . . I don't really like that word. It makes me sound like some sort of divine being. I'm not a goddess. I just . . . keep existing the way I am while everything around me grows older." A pensive, far off expression fell upon her countenance. "Believe me, it's not as wonderful as it might seem."

"I . . . I'm sorry."

A thought rushed through Anna's mind, a terrible thought. "You . . . You're not saying you want to die, are you?"

Elsa laughed softly. "No. No, I . . . I stopped wishing for that a long time ago. I know my purpose. It's my responsibility to keep my forest safe. It's what makes me happy, Anna. Just being here, with the trees, and the flowers, and the other spirits." She shook her head. "It's better this way, anyway."

Anna took a sip of water from the bottle she had procured from her pack. "I . . . I don't want to sound rude, but . . ." She gestured past the trees. "But there's a whole world out there. You're telling me you aren't the slightest bit curious about it?"

Elsa's face fell. Anna immediately regretted asking the question. "Never mind. That . . . That was out of line. You don't have to answer that—"

"No."

Elsa looked down at her hands, watching her fingertips glow with blue and silver light. "I'm well aware of just what exists beyond my forest, Anna. It's a world I have no place in."

She leaned forward. "I've seen what has come of the world. How it is a place filled with nothing but hatred and violence, day in and day out. The unspeakable acts committed every single day for no other reason than to . . ."

She paused. "You think I'm a coward, don't you?"

Anna shook her head. "No! I . . . I don't think that at all! I just . . . The things you can do. The ice. The snow. I mean, there is so much _good_ you could do for the world with those abilities, isn't there?"

A fiery look filled Elsa's eyes. "Do you think I haven't _wanted _to make the world a better place all this time? You don't understand, Samantha . . . Anna. How could you? You are so young. So innocent."

"I'm not—" Anna protested.

Elsa cut her off. "Even in this forest, I hear the whispers of what happens all over the world. Gale . . . Gale brings them to me. When that madman who took over Germany wanted to conquer the entire world, for example, I wanted so badly to help stop him and those he had allied himself with! Surely, I told myself, if my power could prevent the deaths of thousands of young men and countless civilians, I had an obligation to do so! I even went so far as to have Gale help me find a way to reach the highest levels of the Allied military forces. I sent a letter to General Eisenhower himself, offering my services."

Anna was transfixed. "Wow. So . . . So, what happened?"

Elsa ran a hand through her hair. "I waited too long. I doubted myself, whether or not I should get involved, until it was too late. Before I ever had a chance to arrange a meeting with the American military, they dropped . . ." She swallowed, her face ashen. "They dropped the bombs on Japan. I didn't need to see the pictures Gale brought me in the newspapers, Anna. The moment those weapons exploded, I _felt _it."

She closed her eyes, her face contorted in agony as memories tore through her. "I could feel the raw power of those weapons, Anna. Even from halfway across the world, I could feel the death, the destruction, the immense suffering unleashed by power greater than any man has ever wielded before."

Anna was speechless. "I . . . I never thought about it like that before," she whispered, uncertain of what else to say.

Elsa opened her eyes, a resigned look filling them. "In that moment," she said, "I knew I could never, _ever _allow myself to become involved in any sort of war, no matter the justness of its cause." She shook her head. "If men are capable of such destruction without my help, how much worse would it be with my abilities?" She shuddered. "It's true what they say, Anna. Power corrupts even the best of men . . ."

Elsa sighed. "So, yes, maybe I am a coward, after all. But I swore to myself that day I would never use my powers to take a human life. No matter what."

She gestured toward the phone. "Can . . . Can we stop now? Please?"

"Oh! Of course!"

Anna turned off the recorder, her eyes widening as she saw the time on her phone's home screen. "Oh, no! It's . . . It's almost two-thirty! Dr. Andersen and Kristoff are probably worried sick about me!" She thumbed through her contacts, ordering her phone to dial Andersen's number.

"Kristoff?"

"Yeah," Anna responded, not looking up as she brought the phone to her ear. "He's our guide on this little excursion of ours. A really _swell_ guy. You should meet him sometime." _Come on! Come on!_

_ Your call cannot be completed as dialed._

"Oh, no!"

Anna shook the phone, as if that action alone would magically help it find a signal. Her frustration mounting, she paced about, repeatedly trying to dial Andersen's phone.

_Lost satellite reception. Your call cannot be completed as dialed._

"Try again, you stupid hunk of plastic!" Anna shouted at her phone. "Ugggh!"

"Anna!"

Elsa was before Anna is a matter of seconds. "Get quiet!" she whispered. "We aren't alone here!"

Anna held perfectly still, a small voice in the back of her mind pondering why she seemed so willing to trust this Lady in White whom she had just met so implicitly. "Is it the wolves?" she whispered, trying her best to disguise the terror evident in her voice. "Have . . . Have they come back?"

"No," Elsa responded, her eyes narrow slits. The Lady in White held her arms before her, hands glowing with blue and silver light. "It's something else. Something I—"

"Miss Reinhart!"

Anna practically leapt for joy as Andersen came stumbling out of the nearby cluster of trees, Kristoff on his heels. She rushed forward, embracing her mentor. "Dr. Andersen!"

Andersen held her tightly. "Don't do that again, you understand me, Miss Reinhart? Do you have any idea how worried I've been for the past few hours?" He gestured toward the young man behind him. "Even Kristoff here was worried sick about you!"

"He was?" Anna asked, somewhat more hopefully than she had intended. She shook her head. "I mean, of _course _he was. Probably because he knows he doesn't get paid his full price unless both of us make it out alive."

"Thanks a lot," Kristoff said.

Andersen released his hold on Anna, his hands now trembling. "Miss . . Miss Reinhart? Who . . . Who is, um, your . . . your new friend here, exactly? Is . . . Is she—"

"Yes!" Anna whispered. "She's real! I found her! Or, actually, she found me. Either way, yes, it's her! It's the Lady in White! And her name is—"

"Elsa."

Anna and Andersen looked on in utter disbelief as Kristoff stepped forward. He stood before the Lady for a moment, regarding her carefully, before embracing her as a man embraces an old friend. "It's been too long," he said quietly. "Nice to see you again."

"The same here, my friend," Elsa whispered, returning the embrace. "The same here."

Anna looked from Andersen to Elsa and Kristoff, to Andersen, to Elsa and Kristoff again. "Wait. You mean . . . You . . . And you . . ." She threw up her hands. "You have _got _to be kidding me!"

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	6. Chapter 6: Ruminations

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Six**

**Ruminations**

**Saturday, March 23, 2019**

"Well?!"

Anna glared at Kristoff, arms tightly clutching the neck of her cloak, her fingers gripping the fabric tightly in an effort to prevent herself from reaching out and strangling the young man in frustration. "You mean to tell us that all this time, you've known there's magic in this forest. You've known the Lady . . . _Elsa _here. And you didn't think we needed to know any of this?"

Kristoff shrugged. "Pretty much."

Anna threw up her hands. "I really don't get you, Mr. Bjorgman. I don't get you at all! What sort of guide takes people into the forest and pretends he doesn't know things like this? I mean, you knew _why _Dr. Andersen hired you in the first place. The least you could have done was to keep us in the loop!"

"You didn't—"

Anna jabbed her finger into Kristoff's chest. "If you say 'You didn't ask' one more time, so help me, I'm going to—"

"Easy, Miss Reinhart."

Anna turned back to Andersen, her eyes blazing. "How are you so calm about all this? Aren't you upset? I know I am! I don't like being treated like an idiot, and—"

"Miss Reinhart, _enough_!"

Anna shut her mouth as Andersen stepped forward, his eyes fixated upon the Lady in White. "I apologize for my student here," he said. "She is a brilliant academic, but she is a bit . . . impulsive and too eager to speak her mind at times."

Elsa nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at her lip. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me at all."

"Hey!" Anna folded her arms, indignant.

Elsa held up her hands. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. I . . . I keep forgetting you're not . . . you're not _her, _even though you _could _be—"

Anna had had enough. "Okay! That does it!"

She threw her pack to the ground. "I'm tired of not getting a straight answer from anyone around here! I'd expect this from _him_ . . ." She glared at Kristoff. "But . . . But not from you, Elsa . . . I mean, Your Majesty . . . I mean . . . _Ohhhhh_!" She stomped her foot in frustration. "We're not going back to camp until someone explains all this. Because if I'm being honest, I'm not convinced at all that what you told me before, Your Majesty, is the real reason you've hidden yourself here all this time. And I don't understand how you know Kristoff here, or . . ." She shook her head. "You all got that? We're not leaving this spot until someone starts talking sense."

Kristoff stroked his chin. "That's not a good idea. The wolves—"

"Elsa scared them off," Anna retorted.

"Did she?" Kristoff laughed. "That's never stopped them for long before . . ." He smiled inwardly as Anna momentarily blanched before recovering her composure.

"I . . . I don't care!" Anna insisted stubbornly, doing her best to hide the fear growing in her chest. "I want to know the _real _reason you've hidden yourself in here all this time, Your Majesty. How you know Kristoff. Everything! Because nothing you've told me makes sense from what I've read about Arendelle's history—"

It was Kristoff's turn to interject. Snorting derisively, he shook his head. "History is written by the victors," he muttered under his breath.

Anna looked at him. "I beg your pardon. What did you say?"

"You heard me."

Kristoff shoved his hands in his pockets, a bitter expression upon his face. "Look, we only have a few hours of daylight left and a long walk back to camp. If it will get you to come back with the rest of us . . ." He shook his head. "Fine. I'll tell you the truth. The whole truth. Even though, like I said before, you might not like what you hear." He turned to Andersen, raising an eyebrow. "You okay with that, Pops?"

Andersen folded his arms. "Young man, I have a Ph.D. in history. I wrote my dissertation on the history of Arendelle since the dissolution of the monarchy. I don't want to boast, but I am fairly confident I have forgotten more about our city's history than you could possibly know—"

Kristoff, to Andersen's surprise, simply laughed. "You're hilarious, Pops. Not that I'm trying to insult you or anything, don't get me wrong. I just find it interesting when people who weren't even alive at the time think they know more about what happened than those who were."

Andersen opened his mouth to object at the young man's dismissal of his credentials, but Kristoff merely removed his left hand from his pocket, glancing at his watch. "Three o'clock already." He sighed. "All right, fine. Here's the short version."

He glanced backwards in the direction of the edge of the Forest, in the direction that led to his home. "I was telling you the truth when I said Tyrell dissolved the monarchy and set up an account to pay his descendants if they promised to watch over this Forest." He sighed. "What I _didn't _tell you was what happened after he dissolved the monarchy." He looked at Andersen. "What'd you write in your dissertation on that?"

Anna turned to Andersen, eyes wide with expectation, expecting the professor to retort with a flurry of facts that would wipe the smug expression of Kristoff's face. To her surprise, Andersen furrowed his brow. "I . . . I must admit, the historical records were . . . quite incomplete in that regard. Even after I cross referenced and checked dozens upon dozens of contemporary accounts, I never was able to find out precisely what happened to Tyrell and his family. Nor could I find the precise reason why he abdicated and turned Arendelle into a republic. It's like . . . It's like the man simply disappeared."

"Really?"

Kristoff raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment. "How could that be? I thought you were _the _authority or something like that, Pops."

"Kristoff."

Elsa had spoken, her hand coming to rest on Kristoff's shoulder. "That's enough," she said softly. "Just tell them. Tell them _everything_."

To Anna's surprise, Kristoff saw the façade of cocksure self-confidence their guide had displayed from the moment she and Andersen had met him disappear, replaced with what appeared to be genuine concern as he turned to face her. "They don't need to know _everything_," he muttered. "What good is it going to do making you remember—"

"Fine," Elsa said. "_I'll _tell them."

Before Kristoff could stop her, Elsa stepped forward, her hands clutching one another as she spoke. "Before the Queen . . . Tyrell's mother . . ." She paused, willing herself to continue as painful memories sprang to the forefront of her mind. "My sister . . . _My _Anna died, she made me promise that I would leave the Forest. That I would use everything I had learned when I was queen to guide Tyrell. To watch over him, and his sons, and their sons after them."

She shuddered. "Unfortunately, my counsel was not nearly as wise and infallible as my sister had believed." She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I could sense the winds of change blowing across Europe. It had started in France with the Revolution decades earlier. The anti-monarchial sentiment that swept across the continent finally reached Arendelle. In spite of all the good Tyrell was doing as king, our people . . ." She opened her eyes, a distant expression evident in her eyes. "I suppose it's true what they say. That we don't realize just how good things are until we lose them. That we believe the grass is always greener . . ."

Anna inhaled, realization dawning upon her. "The people of Arendelle . . . They revolted? But why don't any of the history books—"

Elsa held up her hand. "Please." She shook her head. "I honestly believe the men who started it weren't even from Arendelle. Tyrell had been under enormous pressure from our allies for some time. Threats were made to cut off our trade agreements if we stubbornly maintained our monarchy as more and more governments were embracing democracy . . . at least, in name, if not in fact. Men began appearing in the streets, fomenting dissent, accusing Tyrell of all manner of crimes he could not possibly have committed. Blaming him for things he had no control over. Before long, even some of his oldest friends turned on him, fearing for the safety of their businesses and families."

She clenched her fists. "As . . . As Tyrell's most trusted advisor . . . as his own flesh and blood, I suggested to him that it would be wise to accept that change seemed to be inevitable. That if we were careful and methodical, we could transition to a democratic republic without bloodshed. So Tyrell announced that he would abdicate the throne upon the election of whatever man the people believed best suited to administer the government. That he would give whoever won the election his uncontested support, and he would take his family away out of the city and retire quietly." A single tear fell down her cheek. "I can't believe how stupid I was! But I truly believed . . . _Wanted _to believe . . ."

"Elsa, stop," Kristoff ordered. "Don't punish yourself—"

"Please!"

Elsa held up her hands, the ground beneath her feet becoming coated with frost. "Not long after the election, I . . . I went to see Tyrell and his family." Her hands began to tremble. "One . . . One last time . . ."

* * *

_"You came!"_

_ Tyrell opened the door to the house on the shores of the fjord, letting Elsa in. Quickly, he shut the door behind him, locking it tightly._

_ "What is it?" Elsa asked, her eyes filled with concern. Her eyes fell upon the suitcases lying upon the table in the dining room. "Gale gave me your message. I . . ." She inhaled sharply as her nephew looked at her, his eyes filled with fear and resignation. "What happened?"_

_ "We have to go, Elsa," Tyrell responded. Gesturing toward his wife, he signaled for her to come close. "It isn't safe for us here any longer."_

_ "What are you talking about?" Elsa asked. "Where are Leif and Bjorn?"_

_ "Gathering last minute supplies from the shed," Tyrell responded, his mind turning to his five- and six-year-old sons. "We need your help, Elsa. Did . . . Did you ride your horse here?"_

_Elsa nodded. "Yes. Nokk . . . Nokk is right outside in the waters on the shore. But—"_

_ "Good."_

_ Tyrell placed his hands on his aunt's shoulders, his grip tight. "They're coming for us, Elsa. They're coming, and I can't let them find my boys."_

_ "Who?" Elsa shook her head. "You aren't making any sense, Tyrell." She turned to his wife, her eyes filled with confusion. "What's going on, Kari?"_

_ The woman looked out the window, her eyes filled with terror. "I don't know exactly! All I know is that Tyrell was threatened. Someone left a note on our door this morning, saying they would kill us all if we weren't gone by nightfall." She looked at Elsa. "How did they find us?! I thought you said no one knew this house was here! That you would keep us safe! You _promised_—"_

_ "Kari, that's enough," Tyrell said, his voice firm. "This is not Elsa's fault any more than it is yours.__"_

_ Elsa frowned. "What do they want, though? You abdicated the throne. You have let the new government run its course for the past six months. I—"_

_ Tyrell cocked the pistol in his grasp, holding it to the level of his eye. Satisfied the weapon was ready if needed, he turned to his aunt. "Apparently, there is talk among some in the 'Delle that I have every intention of reneging on my abdication and taking back the throne by force. That the Lady in White is most displeased with the direction the government is taking and wants to see me restored to power."_

_ "What?!"_

_ Elsa stepped backwards, overwhelmed. "I . . . I would _never—_"_

_ "It doesn't matter," Tyrell said, shaking his head grimly. "Fear is a powerful motivator, Aunt Elsa. You of all people know that as well as anyone. If there are those who truly believe I will retake Arendelle by force, then that is all that matters. I am a threat that needs to be preemptively eliminated."_

_ Elsa clenched her fists. "If . . . If they do anything to you, Tyrell, I swear I will not stop until—"_

_ "You will do no such thing."_

_ Tyrell's voice was low, hushed. "As soon as the boys are back, we are escaping. But if anything happens to me, you _must _promise me, Elsa, that you will not seek justice. __You cannot do that. The moment those behind this realize the Lady in White has declared war on Arendelle, they will attack your forest with everything they have. Our people . . . Countless innocents will die if they anger the spirits, Elsa. You _know _this."_

_ Elsa shook her head. "I . . . I can control them. I can convince them not to—"_

_ Tyrell laughed mirthlessly. "Aunt Elsa, you are very powerful, but you and I both know the giants will not rest until their bloodlust has been satisfied, no matter what you say to convince them otherwise. I may not be king any longer, but that does not render the oath I swore to protect Arendelle null and void."_

_ He ran a hand through his graying hair. "I need you to take the boys across the fjord to your forest, Elsa. Take Nokk and go as quickly as you can. Once the boys are safe, you . . . you can come back for Kari and I. But first you must—"_

_ A knock sounded at the door. "Tyrell! Open up! We know you're in there!"_

_ Tyrell gestured for Kari to freeze. Slowly, his pistol within his grasp, he moved to the window. Taking care to not let himself be visible from the outside, he glanced through the glass. "Twenty men or so," he whispered. "Armed and with torches." He gestured with the pistol toward Elsa and Kari. "New plan. We sneak out the back entrance and wait for the boys in the forest. They know where to go if there is ever an emergency. I've taught them—"_

_ "Tyrell!"_

_ The voice was louder now, as was the knocking, or pounding, rather, at the door. "Goddamn you! Open this door, or so help me, I will execute your sons right here on the spot!"_

_ The three within the house gasped collectively, Kari's hands flying to her face in horror. Elsa's hands glowed with blue and silver light. "Out of the way, Tyrell," she whispered. "Let me—"_

_ "No!"_

_ Tyrell's whisper was strong, forceful. "You have no idea if they even have the boys," he said. "And if they do, they'll kill them the moment they see you. And if you try to use your magic without knowing who you're attacking, you could kill the boys by accident!" He gestured toward Kari with the pistol. "Take her upstairs, Elsa. Whatever happens, do not let her down here until they are gone. Do you understand me? No. Matter. What. Happens."_

_ Elsa opened her mouth to object, but Tyrell cut her off. "Do as I say, Elsa," he hissed. "Do it _now_!"_

_ Reluctantly, Elsa complied with her nephew's request. "Please, Kari," she said, escorting the former queen. "Do what he says. It . . . It will be all right."_

_ As they ascended the stairs, Kari looked at Elsa. "Will it? Do you promise? _Do you_?!"_

_ Before Elsa could reply, they heard the sound of men talking. Tyrell had opened the door. Both women strained to hear what the men downstairs were saying._

_ ". . . Let them go," Tyrell said. "It's me you want. Kill me, but let them go."_

_ "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" a man's voice responded. "You'd like me to let them live, only to come back a few years later, ready to try to claim the throne again."_

_ Tyrell stepped backward. From Elsa's and Kari's vantage point kneeling against the recesses of the stairwell, they could see the mob outside the door shove both Leif and Bjorn into the house. Their hands were bound behind their backs, their mouths gagged. The eyes of both brothers were filled with terror, fixated desperately upon their father._

_ "Please."_

_ Tyrell's voice was soft now. Kneeling slowly, he set his pistol on the floor, kicking it toward the leader of the mob. "Please," he repeated. "Let . . . Let them go. Kill me, but . . . but let them go."_

_ The leader picked up the pistol, regarding it silently. "You see, boys?" he asked Leif and Bjorn. "You see how weak your father is? The 'Delle is better off without him as king. Still . . ." He paused, as if remembering something. "Like my mother always said: Better safe than sorry."_

_ The _crack _of the gunshot was nearly deafening within the confines of the house, ricocheting off the walls up the stairs into Elsa's ears. Not believing what she had just witnessed, Elsa released her grip on Kari, shock overwhelming her as, at the base of the stairs, she saw Tyrell's body slump to the floor._

_ "NO!"_

_ Kari had escaped Elsa's grasp. Before the Lady in White could stop her, Kari raced down the stairs, eyes wide with disbelief, with grief. A second _crack _echoed throughout the house. Kari fell forward, unmoving, sliding down the remaining stairs, coming to rest next to the lifeless form of her husband._

_ The mob leader shook his head, checking the weapon. "Damn. Empty already." He reached for the weapon on his belt, withdrawing it slowly. "Two down," he muttered to himself, his face practically glowing from the light of the torch the man at his side held by his face. "Two to go." He cocked the pistol, bringing it to Leif's head. "Goodbye, son—"_

_ The doorway above his head was suddenly coated in ice, as was the floor beneath him. Involuntarily, the man dropped the gun to his side. "What the—"_

_ His words turned to a scream as he was forcefully hurled against the wall behind him, a stream of unimaginable cold pressing into his chest. Screaming in pain, he watched as the men in the doorway were hurled backwards outside the house by a similar stream of blue and silver light._

_ Elsa, her face filled with fury, raced down the stairs. Her heart pounding within her chest, she threw her arms around the boys. "Quickly!" she whispered. "We need to—"_

_ The sound of six different guns firing toward her and the boys filled her ears. Acting solely on instinct, she summoned a circle of icicles around herself, Leif, and Bjorn. Holding the boys tightly in her grasp, she grimaced with concentration, the sound of bullet after bullet bouncing off the ice filling her ears._

_ "I'll get her!" she heard one of the men say. Her icy barrier disintegrated as one of the men hurled a large, fiery torch toward the circle, the ice turning to liquid from its heat._

_ "Get upstairs!" she cried, pushing the boys toward the staircase. As the young men raced upstairs, too terrified to ask questions, Elsa whirled about, facing the doorway. The flame lapping at the ice spread across the wooden floor, engulfing the suitcases, then the nearby table._

_ "It's her!" one of the men cried out. "Shoot her! Shoot her!"_

_ Concentrating, Elsa moved her hands about, summoning wall after wall of ice from every conceivable angle to deflect the gunshots heading her way. One of the bullets ricocheted off the ice, striking the gas lantern on the table near the window. The lantern fell to the floor, the flame within setting the gas ablaze, adding to the conflagration that slowly but surely was consuming the house._

_ The thick, black smoke from the raging blaze filled Elsa's nostrils. Not immune from its effects in spite of her immortality, she coughed, her eyes watering as she struggled to make her way up the stairs. To her relief, she could see the men were retreating, realization dawning upon them that the rapid rate at which the home and its various furnishings was being consumed by the flame meant it would not be long before its structural integrity was fatally compromised, leading to the inevitable—_

_ "Bjorn!" Elsa cried, racing up the stairs. "Leif!" She exhaled in relief as, through the obsidian haze, she made out the forms of the boys, coughing, sputtering, but still alive._

_ "Quick!" she cried, pulling them to the window at the end of the corridor. Concentrating, she unleashed the coldness at the center of her being, allowing the ice to form a ramp to the ground below. Wordlessly, she pulled Leif and Bjorn behind her, the trio racing down the ice just as the raging fire behind them claimed victory over the house. The dwelling collapsed upon itself, flame reaching toward the sky above as Elsa and the boys ran to shore._

_ Whistling once, Elsa sighed with relief as the waters before her shifted, rising, twisting themselves into the form of—_

_ "Nokk!" she whispered, exhausted, terrified. "Get . . . Get us home!"_

_ The water spirit in the shape of a horse turned solid at her touch. Sensing the gravity of the situation, the spirit knelt down as Elsa helped the boys climb aboard its back. "Go!" Elsa cried as she sat behind the boys. "Now!"_

_ Silently, Nokk raced across the waters of the fjord, toward the forest in the distance._

_ "Elsa?"_

_ The younger son, Bjorn, looked back at her, his eyes filled with tears. His older brother stared resolutely ahead, as if trying to pretend what had just happened was nothing more than a terrible, terrible dream._

_ "Elsa?" Bjorn repeated. "What . . . What's going to happen to us?"_

_ Elsa swallowed, forcing herself to be strong. "Don't worry," she said, stroking the boy's hair. "I . . . I will take care of you now. I will keep you safe. I . . ." She closed her eyes, trying her best not to cry as she spoke the words that, so many times, she had failed to uphold. "I promise . . ."_

* * *

Nobody moved. Anna and Andersen glanced at one another, too overwhelmed from Elsa's story to know how to react. Kristoff, for his part, simply looked at the ground, his jaw clenched tightly.

"I . . . I never found out just who was responsible," Elsa whispered. "In the immediate aftermath, it seems everyone in Arendelle thought the boys . . . and I were dead. That we had burned to death in the fire." She looked at her hands. "I thought it best if I just let them continue to think that."

Anna frowned. "You . . . You never tried to find out who it was? _Never? _You just let them get away with it?"

Elsa covered her head with her hands. "What choice did I have? If I had come forward, if I had let it be known I was still alive, whoever it was would have found out and assumed Tyrell's sons still lived and . . ." She shook her head. "I've failed to keep so many promises in my life. So many! But I . . . I promised _my _Anna before she died that . . ." She swallowed. "That I would watch over Tyrell and his family. And that is one promise I intend to keep, no matter what!"

She smiled sadly at Kristoff. "That's what I have done all this time now. I raised Leif and Bjorn. When Leif left, Bjorn stayed to watch over the Forest with me. Tyrell had given me the information on where he had placed the money he had set aside to take care of his children, and . . ." She looked at Anna and Andersen. "Now . . . Now you know."

Anna sat in stunned silence for several moments, finally clearing her throat. "I . . . I'm sorry. I . . . I don't know what to say . . ." She looked toward the horizon, toward the sun that was now moving westward. "You mean . . . All this time you've hidden yourself here . . . because of this?"

Elsa nodded. "I couldn't take it any longer. Tyrell and Kari's death, it . . ." She coughed, forcing herself to not cry. "It was the final nail in the coffin for me. At that point, I realized that I . . . I couldn't be around other people any longer. That the Arendelle I loved was no longer what I thought it was. And so I . . . I've just stayed here, watching over Tyrell's descendants." She smiled as she looked at Kristoff. "Watching them go from little boys who wander off without their mothers' knowledge to grown men who think they know everything!"

"Hey!" Kristoff glared at Elsa, feigning indignation.

Anna looked at Andersen once more, an idea forming in her mind. "But . . . But, Elsa, you . . . you have to miss some of it, don't you? You can't be happy staying in here all by yourself. Don't . . . Don't you think you could at least give the world one more chance?"

Elsa looked at Anna, her eyes wide with fear. "I . . . I can't do that! I . . . I've been away too long. I—"

"Please!" Anna said. "Just for a little bit! Come back to Arendelle with us! We don't have class this week. You . . . You can stay in my apartment and we . . . I can show you that the world is still a good place after all. Please, Elsa!"

Elsa opened her mouth to say "no," but stopped when she saw Anna regarding her with the same, pleading expression that was so _familiar _. . .

"I . . . I . . ."

Anna's cheeks turned red. "Is it because I said you have to stay in my apartment? You don't have to. In fact, my apartment's really not good enough for someone like you, so we can just . . . I don't know, get you a hotel room or something, and—"

"Yes."

Elsa stood, her eyes fixated upon Anna. "I . . . I don't know why you look like her," Elsa said quietly. "And I know you're _not _her. But I . . . I've been waiting for something to show me what to do for so long now and . . ." She blushed slightly. "And maybe, this is it. Maybe . . . Maybe I _have _been gone for too long. I said I would be the bridge between Arendelle and the spirits. Maybe . . ." She paused, considering something. "Maybe my purpose now is to remind the world that magic still exists after all. Maybe by helping you with your research, I can . . ."

She looked at Anna. "I . . . I would like to stay with you, Samantha . . . Anna. I . . . I would like that very much!"

"Great!"

Anna was ecstatic. "Isn't this great?" she asked Andersen. "This is going to be the best week ever!"

Kristoff frowned. "Elsa, are . . . Are you sure this is a good idea? You know how dangerous it can be out there."

Elsa turned to the young man. "We can't keep hiding ourselves forever, Kristoff. Maybe . . . Maybe Anna and the professor here are right."

Anna clapped her hands. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" Grabbing her pack, she turned to begin the long hike back to camp. "Come on! What are we waiting for?"

"Anna," Kristoff said.

"What now, Mr. Bjorgman?!" Anna groaned, turning to face Kristoff. "Can't you just be happy for once? Can't you just—"

"Anna," Kristoff repeated. He gestured over his shoulder. "_That _way."

"Oh."

Anna held her head high, ignoring the flush rushing through her cheeks as she walked toward Kristoff. "Like I said," she repeated. "What are we waiting for?"

* * *

**AN: My apologies for how long it has taken to update. We had an unexpected hospitalization in the family this weekend. More to come!**


	7. Chapter 7: Roommates

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Seven**

**Roommates**

**Sunday, March 24, 2019**

"Ow! Ow! Ow!"

Kristoff rolled his eyes as he drove the truck, his gaze moving to the rear-view mirror. "Are you done yet?"

Anna glared back at him. "Stop hitting every single bump there is—_Ow!_—and I just might be, Mr. Bjorgman." She groaned, her carsickness now at an all-time high, her gaze turning toward Andersen seated in the passenger seat. "And I thought _he _was a bad driver . . ."

"Thanks, Miss Reinhart," Andersen sighed. "I'll keep that in mind after Kristoff here drops us off at his house. You're welcome to walk back to Arendelle if you'd like while the Lady and I drive back in my van."

"I—_Ow!_—didn't say_—Ow!_—_that_!" Anna grumbled, crossing her arms. She turned to the woman seated next to her on the bench seat. "At least his van has seatbelts. This . . ." She grimaced, the jostling and bumping the truck was subjecting her to causing her face to turn a shade growing closer and closer to chartreuse with each passing moment. "This thing can't possibly be street legal!"

"Which is why," Kristoff interjected, "we're driving off road at the moment, 'AH-na.'"

"Kristoff."

Elsa's voice was gentle, yet firm. "That's enough now. You aren't ten years old any longer."

Kristoff opened his mouth to reply, but seeing Elsa's gaze in the rear-view mirror caused him to reconsider. "Next time she comes along, Pops," he said quietly, glancing at Andersen, "you owe me sixteen cases of beer and a dozen cases of schnapps for a down payment."

"I _heard _that!"

Anna closed her eyes, trying her best to pretend she was back in her apartment, back in her bed, nice and warm, rather than being jostled about in this godforsaken piece of barely-clinging-together metal Kristoff called a truck.

"You don't look well, Sam– . . . Anna," Elsa said softly, taking Anna's hand.

"Is it that obvious?" Anna whispered. "I'm fine, really, I am—"

A loud _thud _echoed about the truck as the vehicle plowed over a large divot in the dirt road, sending its occupants bouncing up and down. "Open the window!" Anna groaned, her face now pale, panic-stricken. "I'm going to be sick!"

"Not to upset you further," Kristoff said nonchalantly, "but the rear windows haven't opened in five years. I've been meaning to fix them, but, well, there's never really been a need considering how I rarely entertain visitors and all . . ."

Anna's face was now the color of bleached fabric. "Are you _serious_?! Well, there's _going _to be a need in a few seconds unless you pull over right now—"

"Not on my upholstery you don't!" Kristoff retorted.

Anna shoved her finger into the large tear in the fabric covering the bench seat. "You call _this _'upholstery'—"

"Here."

Elsa placed her hand on Anna's abdomen, closing her eyes, allowing the cold that was always swirling within the center of her being to make its way. Anna opened her mouth to question what Elsa was doing, half expecting to release the contents of her stomach in the process, when she stopped. A strange sensation came over her. The coldness emanating from Elsa's fingertips should have been disquieting, should have made her feel even more unwell than she already felt. Yet oddly, she felt her stomach settle, the muscles in her belly relax as what felt like a soft, cool breeze washed over her.

Elsa looked at her expectantly. "Does that feel better?"

"Yes," Anna conceded, a puzzled expression on her face. "What . . . What did you do, exactly?"

Elsa blushed. "I . . . When my sister was little, this always settled her stomach whenever she wasn't feeling well. I'm not sure why, exactly. It just . . . And I thought it was worth a try with you."

Anna smiled. "I _do _feel a lot better now." She pounded on the driver's seat in front of her. "You hear that, Mr. Bjorgman? I feel a _lot _better now! Your precious upholstery is—"

_Thwunk!_

"Sorry, Anna," Kristoff called over his shoulder as Anna's head nearly collided with the roof. "Can't hear you over the bumps in the road. Someone really should get around to paving this."

"You did that on purpose!" Anna grumbled, closing her eyes in a desperate effort to make the world stop spinning. "Please tell me we're almost to your house! I really can't take any more of—"

_Thud!_

"We're here."

Kristoff whistled as he opened the driver's side door, Andersen doing likewise on the passenger's side. Anna, on the other hand, continued to allow her cheek to press against the back of the driver's seat, her body having succumbed to the laws of physics and collided with the seat in front of her when Kristoff had unexpectedly slammed the brakes as hard as he could.

"I'm going to kill him," she muttered under her breath. "Any American jury would let me off for it under the circumstances. I'm ready to take my chances here as well."

The sound of a warm laugh filled Anna's ears. She turned her head slowly toward the source, taking care to make certain she hadn't suffered whiplash from the sharp change in velocity. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Elsa responded. "It's just . . . I've missed this. You and . . . and him."

Anna's eyes widened as the implications of Elsa's words raced through her mind. "Wait a minute. You mean your sister and . . . and _him _. . .? Oh, no. Oh, God, no! No, no, no, no!" She shook her head. "I know they say everybody has a twin somewhere, but if you think I would ever, _ever _even think about that just . . . just because . . ."

Her voice trailed off as, for the briefest of moments, she saw in her mind's eye an image of herself, clad all in white, dancing with a man with a familiar head of shaggy blonde hair. She rubbed her eyes, shaking her head, forcing herself to focus on the present. "So," she said, opening her eyes, hoping to change the subject to something less . . . awkward. "Are you ready to see what you've been missing all these years?"

Elsa nodded, hoping that Anna did not notice the look of subtle disappointment evident in her eyes. "I think so," she replied. "Although, I have to admit, I . . . I'm somewhat afraid."

"You? Afraid?" Anna frowned. "Says the woman who scared off an entire pack of wolves singlehandedly with her ice magic!"

"You know what I mean," Elsa said.

"I do," Anna conceded. "But think of how much you can learn from this as well. Don't tell me you aren't just a little bit curious of what the world out there is like—"

A tapping sound echoed throughout the truck. Elsa and Anna turned to the window on Elsa's side of the bench seat as the door opened. "What do you want now?" Anna muttered. "If you want the rest of your payment, Dr. Andersen has it for you."

Kristoff grinned, holding up a wad of bills. "Already took care of that, 'AH-na.'" He whistled once more as he thumbed through the currency. "Dad always said Pops was a man of his word. Turns out he was right. He paid up, and then some."

"Fabulous," Anna said. "So what are you still standing around here for? Don't you have cases of beer and schnapps to empty or something?"

"Ha, ha," Kristoff retorted. He looked at Elsa. "You don't have to do this, you know. You can stay here. Where it's safe. You _know _how dangerous it is out there."

Elsa stood, exiting the truck. "I do know," she admitted. "That's . . . That's why I have to go. The world out there . . . Maybe it needs me after all." She smiled, cupping Kristoff's cheek. "You can come with us," she said.

"Yeah, right," Kristoff snorted. "Like there's anything out there for someone like me. I don't fit in with polite society, Elsa. You know that." He grinned, his cocksure disposition returning. "Besides, I have tradition to keep up, after all." He held up his phone. "As well as money to ensure I keep collecting." He glanced at his watch. "You know, this weekend's made me realize I need a new truck after all."

"_Now _he decides this," Anna grumbled, her stomach growing queasy once more.

Kristoff ignored her. "Before you leave, though," he said to Elsa, "would you mind strengthening the coldness in the cellar for me? It's been hit and miss lately."

Anna looked at Elsa. "So _that's _why it's so cold down there. You . . . You made it like that with your magic!"

Elsa nodded. "I will see what I can do," she said.

Kristoff shut the door to the truck behind Elsa as the two of them made their way to Kristoff's ramshackle home. Anna, meanwhile, shook her head once more, desperate to clear the image of her and . . . and _him _that for some reason refused to leave her mind. "It's not real," she muttered under her breath. "It _can't _be real! I'm not her sister. I'm not her sister." She rubbed her eyes again. "Get it together, Samantha," she whispered to herself. "You're just overtired, and excited that everything you've wanted to believe about Arendelle and . . . and _her _is true after all! Stay focused! Concentrate on your research . . ."

_Then why are you even considering the possibility, no matter how incredible it sounds?_

She opened her eyes, her hand moving to the handle on the door. The door of the old truck refused to open. "Great," she muttered. Crawling across the bench seat, she tried to open the door Elsa had just exited. The handle broke off in her hand.

"Wonderful!" she grimaced. She pounded on the window. "Hey! Hey! Elsa! Kristoff! Dr. Andersen! I'm stuck in here!"

No one responded.

"Peachy," Anna muttered, crossing her arms once again. "Just . . . Just peachy!"

* * *

"Well, this is it!"

Anna opened the door to her apartment, her eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. "Thank heavens there's no class tomorrow!" she muttered. "I just want to take a nice, hot shower, eat something terribly unhealthy, and go to bed."

"This . . . This is where you live?"

Anna felt her cheeks turn red with embarrassment as Elsa followed her into the apartment. The small room was an absolute disaster. Clothes lay strewn about the floor and various furnishings, some in desperate need of washing, others washed yet needing to be put away. The table was covered in textbooks and papers, the product of far too many late nights spent working with too little sleep. The small sink in the kitchenette was filled with dishes that should have been washed five days ago.

"You . . . You know what?" Anna said, turning around. "I still have Dr. Andersen's university credit card. Maybe we should just get you a hotel room for the night. You . . . You don't want to sleep here. It looks like a tornado went through here." She paused. "Actually, it probably looks worse." A panicked thought ran through her mind. "Not that a tornado would be a bad thing or anything, 'cause I mean, you _know _one and all! No! That's not what I mean! I just—"

"Anna."

Elsa's voice was calm, patient. "I sleep in a small tent in the middle of the Forest. You don't have to worry about impressing me, I promise."

Anna nodded. "Sorry. I . . . I just . . ." She blushed again. "I've never had a queen stay with me, let alone an immortal lady who can control ice and snow. I'm . . . I'm a little nervous."

She wrinkled her nose. "What . . . What is that _smell_?! Is it the dishes? Wait, no, it's closer than that. It's got to be . . ." Her eyes widened. "Oh, God, it's me!"

The young woman raced to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Through the door, Elsa could hear the sound of water flowing freely, followed by a long, luxurious "Ahhhhhh!"

The Lady in White walked about the small apartment, her eyes moving over the student's belongings. She frowned as she realized there was something missing, although she couldn't quite put her finger on it at the moment. Realization dawned on her at long last: there were no _photographs_! Not a single photo or memento of Samantha/Anna's past could be found anywhere. It was as if, Elsa contemplated, the young woman had simply appeared out of nowhere—

The door to the bathroom opened. Anna exited, a towel wrapped around herself, accompanied by a train of hot steam. "Boy, do I feel better!" she exclaimed. "You don't realize how nice it is to have a hot shower until you haven't had one for a few days, I guess . . ."

She dropped her jaw. "Ohmygosh! I'm standing in front of Queen Elsa, and I'm not wearing any clothes!"

Elsa raised her hands. "Anna, it's—"

Anna raced past her, grabbing a shirt, sweats, and underwear from her drawer. The bathroom door slammed shut once more, opening several moments later as a now-dressed Anna exited. "I . . . I am so sorry about that!" she said, mortified. She collapsed on the bed, closing her eyes. "Great job, Anna," she muttered to herself. "Way to make a good first impression!"

"Anna."

Anna opened her eyes to see Elsa standing over her. "You need to relax. You don't need to walk on eggshells around me."

"Sorry," Anna said. "I . . . I just want everything to be perfect while you're here, and . . ." She gestured about the apartment. "I guess I really had no business complaining about Kristoff's house, did I, considering how bad my own place looks. What's that they say about glass houses, again?"

"Anna, it's _fine_! I . . ." Elsa took her hand. "I feel very comfortable here. You don't need to worry about impressing me."

Anna nodded, reaching for her phone. "I . . . I don't know about you, but I'm starving!" She opened her contacts, searching for the familiar number. "Two days of nothing but Kristoff's protein bars have me desperate for some real food!" She pressed the "dial" button. The phone began ringing as Anna pressed it to her ear. "Hello? Hello? Yes, I'd like to place a delivery pl—"

Elsa watched as Anna's shoulder sagged. "Yes, it's me again," the young woman said, her voice now low, filled with a hint of embarrassment and resignation. "Yes. The American. Like I was saying, I'd like to place a delivery order, please."

Anna frowned, her free hand gesticulating wildly. "No, I don't want my 'usual,' thank you very much. I actually need an extra large tonight." Her frown deepened. "That's not really any of your business, but yes, I do, in fact, have company." She clenched her jaw as the voice on the other end of the line said something Elsa couldn't make out. "No, I'm not trying to 'eat my sorrows away' or whatever it is you're insinuating." Her eyes were now narrow slits. "Look, buddy, if you didn't have the only place around here that makes a half-decent pizza, I'd hang up right now. But as it is, I'm starving, so just deliver it and stop judging me. Yes, you know where I live. Goodbye."

She hung up the phone. "Why are people around here so _rude_?"

"It's because you're not from here," Elsa responded mater-of-factly. "Ever since the wars, the people of Arendelle have been suspicious of outsiders. I'm not saying it's right. It's just the way it is now." She looked toward the window. "It didn't use to be like that, though . . ."

"Hmm."

Anna sat back down on the bed. "Anyway, our food will be here in half an hour or so. And before you say anything, yes, I admit I probably order from there too often. But you know, as much as I like studying here at the university, I do miss some things about America. Especially the food . . ."

She brought her hand to her face as a terrible thought crossed her mind. "Oh, no! I didn't even think to ask you if you even _like _pizza!"

Elsa cocked her head. "I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of trying it."

"Oh, no!"

Anna was pacing now, the evening now an unmitigated disaster in her mind. "Don't worry! I'll call him back and cancel the order. We can get something else. Something you like—"

"Anna."

Elsa's voice was firm, authoritative, queenly. "If you don't calm down, I'm going to have to freeze your feet to the floor."

Anna looked at her. "Sorry. Are . . . Are you sure pizza is okay? I mean, yes, it looks just like bread with tomato sauce and cheese on it, but once you _taste_ it . . ." She closed her eyes, licking her lips expectantly.

"It sounds delicious," Elsa said. "I don't eat much these days, anyway. It seems I don't need as much food to sustain myself as I used to before . . . you know."

Anna nodded. "Well, while we're waiting, you're more than welcome to take a shower. And you're welcome to borrow anything you want to wear."

Elsa looked at her. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Anna swallowed. "Well, if . . . If we're trying to keep a low profile here, it's probably best if you don't go around wearing that dress. Not that it doesn't look good on you and all, because it's absolutely gorgeous and I wish I could pull it off! But it's not exactly up to date with what people are wearing, and . . ."

"Says the girl who wore a cloak into the North Forest," Elsa said.

Anna winced. "Okay, you got me there. But I . . . I was thinking, tomorrow we could go buy you some new outfits with Andersen's credit card. I mean, you _are _willing to let us interview you further on camera, right? And even meet with other people, aren't you?"

Elsa nodded. "Normally, I . . . I would have said 'no' to this entire idea. But . . . But looking at you, seeing who you remind me of, I . . ." She smiled awkwardly. "Somehow this just feels _right_ to me."

"Thanks," Anna responded sheepishly. She gestured toward the bathroom. "Like I said, you're welcome to take a shower." She realized she had done it again; she had inadvertently insulted the queen. "Not that you need one, of course," Anna rambled, turning to face the wall, certain it would be a better person to speak to than anyone else in that moment, "but it made me feel, like, _so _much better, and . . ."

"Anna?"

Elsa's voice rang out from within the bathroom. "Yes?" Anna replied, following her.

Elsa was staring at the shower, confusion evident on her face. "Anna, how do I make this work?"

"Oh," Anna said, understanding. "You've never used a shower before, have you? Here."

Anna turned on the water, adjusting the temperature. "Let me show you."

* * *

"You were right."

Anna looked up from her laptop to see Elsa exit the bathroom. The woman's long hair hung down her back, still wet. She was wearing one of Anna's pairs of pajamas, light blue in color. The short-sleeved shirt exposed the woman's midriff slightly, an inevitable product of the fact that she was slightly taller than Anna, as well as slightly more, to Anna's passing jealousy, endowed in certain aspects.

"You were right," Elsa repeated, tossing her towel into the laundry basket. "I do feel better. That hot shower is a lot nicer than bathing in the river."

Anna gestured toward the bed. "Here. Let me brush your hair for you. I insist," she said, cutting off Elsa's objections. "If I don't," she continued, "you're going to have one heck of a mess on your hands in the morning from all the tangles you're going to get."

The older woman nodded, sitting herself down on the mattress as she allowed Anna to begin brushing her hair. Anna's delicate touch sent a torrent of memories running through Elsa's mind. "My sister used to do this," she said softly. "Especially after I first froze Arendelle. When we became close again after so many years of being apart." She smiled. "Those were the happiest days of my life, I think. Back when we were both so happy just to be _with_ each other again."

Anna nodded. "It sounds like your sister was a very special woman."

"She was," Elsa whispered, her lip trembling. "More than you'll ever know, Sam– . . . Anna."

As Anna worked at moving the brush through Elsa's hair, she began to hum absentmindedly. Her voice was soft at first, hardly perceptible unless one was already aware she was humming. As she increased her pace in stroking Elsa's hair, however, she unconsciously began humming louder, the melody now clearly audible. Her humming ceased as Elsa suddenly stiffened, a thin layer of frost forming on the floor beneath her feet. "What's wrong?" Anna asked. "Did I pull too hard? I'm really sorry! I didn't—"

"Anna!"

Elsa's voice was little more than a whisper. "Where . . . Where did you learn that melody?"

Anna looked at Elsa in confusion. "What? This?" She hummed the first few bars of the melody again, concern washing over her as Elsa's ice blue eyes began to grow misty, watery. "I . . . I'm not sure, really, now that you mention it. I just . . ." She frowned. "Why? Do you know it or something?"

Elsa was clenching her hands together again, as was her wont whenever anxiety filled her spirit. "What about the . . . the words?" she asked. "Do you know the words?"

Anna shook her head. "No." She put her hands on her hips. "Can you please tell me what has you so upset?"

Elsa inhaled sharply. "That . . . That was our lullaby. When we were little, I used to sing it to her whenever she was scared or upset. And then, after . . ." She closed her eyes. "The night I came back to the castle after unfreezing Arendelle, I . . . I was so filled with self-hatred. So ashamed of what I'd done. So many years of trying to keep my powers hidden from everyone, only to almost _kill_ . . ."

She was crying now, uncontrollably. Anna watched, helpless, uncertain of what to do. "Um, no, Elsa. Please! It's . . . It's all right! I'm sorry I upset you! I . . . I didn't _mean _to!"

Elsa cleared her throat, willing herself to gain control over her emotions. "I didn't understand how she could possibly still love me after so many years of me pushing her away. That night, I . . . I completely broke down, Samantha. I told her she should run away from me, never see me again, because I was such a . . ." She bit her lip, memories of an arrogant duke pointing at her, face contorted in indignation and horror flying through her mind. "Because I was such a _monster_!"

Anna stood unmoving, uncertain of what to say. "But . . . But you're not a monster at all!"

"I know that _now_," Elsa replied, her gaze distant, unfocused. "But when you're only twenty-one years old, born with power you can't even begin to understand or control, and everyone who is responsible for you tells you day in and day out you _have _to keep it a secret or you will hurt or even kill everyone you love . . ." She put her head in her hands. "She saved me that day, Samantha . . . Anna. She held me in her arms. She told me she loved me no matter what, and that she would take care of me if I would just let her. She sang to me and . . ."

Both ladies started as a knock sounded at the door. "That . . . That would probably be the pizza," Anna said. She stood, prepared to walk across the apartment to retrieve her wallet.

"Anna?"

She turned back toward the bed. "Yes?"

Elsa was clutching her hands again. "Thank . . . Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for letting me come back with you. It's . . . It's been so long since I've opened up to someone like this and I . . . I've really missed it."

Anna smiled. "I'm very happy you came back with us. I think this is going to be—"

Another series of knocks emanated from the door. "Yeah, yeah," Anna shouted. "I'm coming. Jeez, give a lady a minute, why don't you?"

She opened the door. "Here," she said, thrusting several bills into the delivery man's hand, not giving him an opportunity to comment on the utter mishmash that was her t-shirt and sweats ensemble. "You can keep the change if you just give me my food without judging me like everyone else in your restaurant seems to want to."

Wordlessly, the delivery man handed her the steaming hot box. "Thank you so much," Anna said, kicking the door shut.

She turned, her face beaming as she set the box down on the bed. "It may not be the fanciest meal in Arendelle," she conceded, "but I think you're going to enjoy this." She opened the lid, inhaling the scent, her mouth salivating involuntarily. "To new friends," she said, pulling two slices of pizza from the box, setting them on the plates she kept on her nightstand. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's eat!"

* * *

**AN: I can tell when a story I'm writing is a good concept when the dialogue flows easily, as it has as I've written the dialogue for our two ladies in this chapter. Thank you for all the positive reviews and follows. More to come!**


	8. Chapter 8: Makeover

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Eight**

**Makeover**

**Monday, March 25, 2019**

". . . Ba da bum, ba da dat dat da da, ba da _waaah_!"

Elsa opened her eyes, her nostrils filled with the scent of something quite appetizing cooking from the kitchenette, while her ears were simultaneously filled with a familiar voice . . . well, doing something akin to singing, Elsa noted, except without words. Not real words, at least.

"Good morning."

Anna nearly leaped out of her skin as Elsa's voice sounded in her ears. Startled, the young woman turned around, the wooden mixing spoon that had been her imaginary microphone quickly moving away from her mouth. "Oh. Hi. You . . . You didn't see anything there!"

"Of course not."

Elsa smiled as Samantha . . . Anna quickly moved to the griddle on the counter, an embarrassed expression on her face. "So, I was thinking," Anna said quickly, "that a hot breakfast would be nice. 'Cause I've _really _been hungry for pancakes lately and . . . wait, do _you _like pancakes?"

"They smell delicious," Elsa said, her eyes moving toward the collection of golden circles cooking on the griddle. "And if they're anything like the pizza we had last night, I'm certain I will love them."

"See?"

Anna smiled triumphantly, flipping the pancakes onto two plates with gusto. "I _told _you you'd like it." Satisfied, turned off the griddle. "How did you sleep?"

"Wonderfully," Elsa responded, noting just how nice it felt to sleep in a real bed again. "You didn't have to sleep on the floor, you know. I don't take up that much room."

Anna waved her hand. "It's fine. Really, it is. You're my guest, after all."

Elsa rose, running a hand through her hair as she walked to the kitchenette. Anna was already dressed, clad in a pair of jeans and a red blouse. Elsa frowned as she realized the dishes that had been in the sink the night before had been put away, that the clothes that had been strewn about the room were either put away or in the laundry basket, that the table was now actually visible, rather than covered in books and papers. "How . . . How long have you been up?"

Anna shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Here." She handed a plate of pancakes and syrup to Elsa. "Tell me what you think about these."

Elsa studied the food curiously. Taking her fork, she cut a piece of pancake, putting it in her mouth. "Wow," she said. "This . . . This is really good!"

"Thank you!" Anna exclaimed, bowing dramatically. "I may not be able to cook much, but pancakes are one thing I can do without totally messing them up." She sat at the table with her plate, gesturing for Elsa to join her. The former queen complied, taking another bite of her breakfast. "So . . . What is the plan for today?"

"Well," Anna said, swallowing in order to avoid speaking to Elsa with her mouth full. "I just texted Dr. Andersen. After breakfast, we're going to get you some nice clothes. Then we're going to meet him at the media center on campus. He's got a camera reserved for us and everything. He wants to get a full-length video interview of you before lunch."

Elsa raised her eyebrow. "He doesn't waste time, does he?"

"No," Anna said, ingesting another mouthful of pancake. "I gotta tell you, I've been his student all semester and this is the most excited I've ever seen him. I think he's counting on you vindicating him in front of his colleagues. He always believed you were real, you know."

Elsa frowned. "I don't like the idea of being used as a tool for someone to redress their grievances."

Anna shook her head. "No, it's not like that at all! He just . . ." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Dr. Andersen isn't the most . . . _friendly _person around. But he's a brilliant scholar and a great teacher. Trust me, Elsa. Please?"

The Lady nodded. "All right. If . . . If you have this much confidence in his motives, I will sit for his interview. But only if you're asking me questions as well."

Anna blushed. "I'm honored!" She glanced at her phone, frowning as she noticed the time. "We'd better get going. We've got a lot to do today." Standing, she moved toward the bed, retrieving a pair of jeans and a t-shirt she had laid out while Elsa was still sleeping. "Here," she said, tossing the clothing Elsa's way.

Elsa looked at the clothes, then to Anna, back to the clothes again, then to Anna, a horrified expression on her face. "You . . . You want me to go out in public . . . in _these_?"  
"Sure," Anna said, taking her and Elsa's plates and putting them in the sink. "What's the problem?"

Elsa shook her head. "It hardly seems proper, doesn't it?"

Anna laughed. "Oh! I get it! You're used to women wearing dresses at all times. Trust me, this is practically formal attire compared to what some of my classmates wear to class sometimes." Her cheeks turned pink. "Not that I would ever _dream _of looking anything less than professional for class, of course."

Elsa was not convinced. "I . . . I don't know . . ."

"Trust me," Anna insisted. "Look, if it makes you feel better, no one's going to see you wearing these anyway. We're going straight to the boutique, which is just a block and a half from here. You'll be fine. I promise . . ."

* * *

"I thought you said no one would see me wearing this!"

Elsa was not in a good mood. Arms folded across her chest, foot tapping impatiently, she and Anna stood outside the door of Jenessen's Boutique. The wooden doors to the boutique were tightly locked, forcing the two women to stand on the sidewalk outside the store, the sidewalk filled with countless citizens making their way through the 'Delle's sidewalks.

"Okay," Anna conceded. "Maybe I exaggerated just a little. But how was I supposed to know he wouldn't open on time?" She pointed to the business hours posted on a sign on the door. "See? It was supposed to open fifteen minutes ago. That's not my fault—"

Elsa winced as a passerby bumped into her shoulder as he walked past, not even stopping to apologize for his rudeness. "This . . . This was a bad idea," she said, anxiety beginning to overwhelm her. "Why is it so _noisy_?"

Anna frowned. "Noisy? This is pretty quiet for a Monday around here, actually." She paused, forcing herself to try to listen to the world around her as Elsa would hear it, trying to envision what it would be like for someone used to nothing but the quiet sounds of nature to suddenly be thrust into the middle of a bustling metropolis. Her eyes widened as she suddenly became aware of each and every honking horn from the various cars and trucks moving up and down the street, of stray dogs and cats barking and meowing at one another, of laborers busily jackhammering the sidewalk several blocks away.

"This is really uncomfortable for you, isn't it?" Anna asked.

Elsa nodded, closing her eyes, trying to make the sounds go away by simply focusing on the omnipresent coldness flowing through her. "I am winter," she whispered to herself. "I am frost. I am ice. I am _snow_ . . ."

Anna gasped as a soft flurry of snowflakes emanated from Elsa's fingertips, a cold wind swirling around her. The sensation was gone in less than a second, too brief for anyone who happened to pass by to notice. "What . . . What was that?"

Elsa opened her eyes, her expression calm, stoic. "I feel better now," she said. "I . . . I can do this."

Anna's puzzled expression caused Elsa's face to turn slightly red. "Sorry for not warning you about that," the Lady said. "Did anyone—"

"No," Anna replied. "No one noticed. Is . . . Is that some sort of meditation exercise or something?"

"Sort of," Elsa acknowledged. "My . . . My father was a good man, but misguided in how he tried to teach me to control my magic. He thought the only way I could control my power was if I forced myself to try to keep it bottled up inside of me. To conceal it at all times." She shook her head. "You can probably guess how well that worked. So, after I unfroze Arendelle, I decided to try a different way to handle anxiety and fear. Rather than denying what I am, I . . . I accept it and allow the coldness to do what it wants to do." She smiled. "It seems to have a mind of its own at times."

"Wow."

Anna leaned against the door of the boutique. "That . . . That's incredible! What . . . What does it feel like? When you use it, I mean?"

Elsa thought for a moment, stepping closer to Anna, partly to avoid a collision with yet another pedestrian and partly to be able to speak quietly while still allowing the young woman to hear her. "I'm not sure how to describe it," she admitted. "How does it feel to breathe? How does it feel to see, or to feel the warmth of the sun on a bright day? It just . . . It just _happens_, as naturally as anything in the world."

Anna opened her mouth to reply, only to let out a shriek as the door she was leaning on suddenly opened. Before she knew what was happening, she was falling forward through the doorway, stopping only when her body collided with the tile of the shop's floor.

"Oh, my!"

The next thing Anna knew, she was in the grip of a giant bear of a man, his massive arms lifting her from the floor. "So sorry about that, dear!" he apologized, his voice heavily accented. "Didn't know you were going to be leaning against the door and all."

"Yeah, well," Anna grumbled, rubbing the base of her skull. "Maybe if you'd open your store when the sign says you will, you wouldn't have people dropping in on you like this."

The man appeared genuinely hurt. "So sorry," he said, his tone apparently sincere. "I will give you ten percent off any purchases you make today, so that we have good feelings . . ."

Before Anna could reply, the shopkeeper leaned forward, studying her. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Back so soon, dearie? Tell me, did you like the trousers and the cloak? How was your little weekend getaway—"

"Fine," Anna said, trying desperately to get the salesman to stop talking long enough for her to think. "Just . . . Just fine, thank you very much."

"Good, good!" the shopkeeper said, rubbing his hands together. He frowned, a thought occurring to him. "I do hope you aren't here trying to return anything." He pointed to a sign posted by the register. "No returns on clothing. Store policy and all."

"Will you stop talking?!" Anna exclaimed. Breathing slowly, she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down. _I am winter, _she told herself, figuring that if it worked for Elsa, it might work for her. _I am cold. I am . . . I sound like such an _idiot_—_

"Yoo hoo!"

Anna opened her eyes to see the salesman had moved past her, his hand taking hold of Elsa's. "And who might your friend be, Miss?" he asked Anna. "Such a vision of loveliness gracing my shop! Oh, Oaken Jenessen, how fortunate you must be—"

"Do you ever stop talking?!"

Anna threw up her hands. "Sorry. I get that you're a salesman and all, and it's your job to try to charm people and tell them what they want to hear, but could you please just stop talking long enough for me to tell you why we're here in the first place?"

"Oh."

Oaken released his grip on Elsa's hand. "I apologize, dearie," he said, his voice filled with contrition. "Didn't mean to upset you or make you uncomfortable."

Anna sighed, wondering just why she was feeling so guilty, the salesman's puppy-dog expression doing nothing to make her feel better. "I'm not upset," she said. "Sorry. It's just . . . My friend here needs some new clothes. She has an . . . an interview today, and she needs to look her best. Could you show us to your women's department, please?"

"An interview?"

Oaken's excited expression returned. "What sort of interview? Job interview, perhaps?" He regarded Elsa with a professional eye, studying her figure, contemplating dozens of possible outfit combinations. He shook his head as he regarded the t-shirt and jeans the woman was wearing. "No wonder you came to Oaken's shop. You'll never get the job, dearie, dressed in _that_."

Elsa looked down at her borrowed clothes, her cheeks turning red again. "I told you!" she mouthed at Anna.

"No, it's not a job interview," Anna corrected. "She's going to be interviewed on camera. You know. I'm going to ask her questions and record her answers—"

"Say what?"

Oaken's eyes gleamed even brighter. "You mean, you young ladies will be wearing Oaken's clothing on TV?"

Anna and Elsa looked at one another. "Well," Elsa said, slowly. "Yes. Sort of—"

"Say no more!"

Anna shrieked again as Oaken grabbed hold of her arm, dragging her to the rear of the shop. "How many outfits you need, dearie?"

Anna glanced back at Elsa, shrugging her shoulders. "Um . . . Well, three or four, I guess—"

"Perfect!"

Oaken withdrew a white blouse from the rack, holding it up to Anna. "What do you think about this, dearie?"

Anna touched the fabric, marveling at its softness, realizing it must be made of very high quality—and very expensive—silk. "Well, it's . . . It's very nice, but I don't—"

"Proposition for you."

Oaken retrieved another blouse from the rack, moving toward Elsa. He snapped his fingers as he realized he had judged her proportions exactly. "What time is interview?"

Anna glanced at her phone. "Um, well, as soon as possible, but definitely by noon we need to be—"

Oaken clapped his hands. "Oaken will give you twenty percent discount, plus throw in free hair styling and makeup in exchange for you promoting his shop during interview." He grinned expectantly. "So? We have deal, yah?"

Elsa swallowed. "Mr. Jenessen, that . . . that is very generous of you, but you really don't—"

"Perfect! All settled!"

Before Elsa and Anna knew what was happening, Oaken had dragged them to the next room of the boutique and seated them in a pair of chairs next to a massive shelf of hair styling equipment and makeup. He clapped his hands once more. "Gerda! Hilda! Yoo hoo!"

Two young women emerged from the adjoining room. "Customers for you, yah!" Oaken exclaimed. "High rollers! Give them VIP experience!"

The shopkeeper smiled as his two employees moved toward Anna and Elsa. "Don't worry. You ladies are in good hands with Gerda and Hilda. Just relax while I put together outfit ideas."

Elsa looked at Anna, uncertainty upon her face. "'VIP experience?'"

Anna shrugged. "Why not? Dr. Andersen wants you looking your best, I'm sure." She held up the professor's credit card. "I'm sure he'll consider it money well spent." She gestured toward Gerda and Hilda as she studied Elsa's hair. "You know, ladies, I think my friend here would look really good with her hair in . . . a braid . . ."

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	9. Chapter 9: Thickening

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Nine**

**Thickening**

**Monday, March 25, 2019**

Jan Andersen frowned as he checked his watch for the third time in the past minute, as if the mere act of repeatedly viewing his timepiece would cause time to pass faster than its normal ebb and flow. _Where the hell are they? _he thought to himself. _It's already 11:30! Surely they know I don't have this booked all day—_

"So, like, are you gonna actually have an interview today, or what, Doc?"

Andersen massaged his temples as he regarded the young man sitting behind the camera before him, the scent of what was most certainly—ahem—some sort of herbal . . . _supplement _wafting off his t-shirt (complete with "4/20" logo) into the professor's nostrils. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stephenson," he said. "Do you have something better to do?" _Actually, _Andersen thought to himself. _Don't answer that question._

Before the young man could reply, Andersen thrust a beer bottle toward him. "Here. Consider this a bonus for your troubles."

"Thanks, Doc," Stephenson said, eagerly taking the beer from the professor. "You know, you're all right for an old man."

"I'm touched," Andersen muttered under his breath. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, selecting a number from his contacts. _Where. Are. You? _he texted.

The door to the media center burst open. "Sorry! Sorry! We're here!" a familiar voice rang out.

Andersen sighed, turning around slowly to face the entryway. "Miss Reinhart, I don't expect a great deal, but if you are going to be my research assistant, I expect you to at least try to be . . . punctual . . ."

His voice faded away as his eyes beheld the two young women standing before him. Anna, to Andersen's astonishment, was dressed more professionally than he had ever seen her before. Her white blouse was immaculately pressed, tucked into a pair of black trousers, her hair professionally styled into a perfect bun. Andersen opened his mouth to compliment his student on her appearance, only to lose the ability to speak as he beheld the vision standing behind her.

Elsa stood before him, her pale skin practically glowing in the soft light of the studio lights hanging from the ceiling. Her hair no longer hung freely about her face, instead expertly pulled into an elaborate braid that hung over her left shoulder. Her light blue blouse complemented the navy blue skirt and blazer she had purchased from Oaken's boutique.

"My . . . My Lady," Andersen finally said, taking her hand. "You . . . You look positively radiant."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Oh, I get it. For me it's all 'Miss Reinhart, work on getting places on time better!', but for _her _. . ." She folded her arms. "Who do you think got her to the boutique to get her all dolled up for this interview in the first place?" She shoved a credit card into Andersen's free hand. "Here you go."

Andersen took the credit card, grimacing. "And how much was the damage, Miss Reinhart?"

Anna shrugged sheepishly. "Let's just say I wouldn't be showing the statement to the accounting department here until after we've recorded the interview if I were you, okay? Besides," she continued, before the professor could erupt in a tirade regarding her financial irresponsibility. "I thought you said money was no object."

"I wasn't being serious—"

Elsa, meanwhile, had sat down in the chair in front of the camera, a nervous expression on her face. "Is . . . Is this where I'm supposed to sit?" she asked. She squinted, holding her hand before her eyes to shield them from the luminescence of the large lights above. "Does it have to be this bright?"

"Yeah, it kinda does," Stephenson said, taking a swig from his beer. He belched, Elsa recoiling slightly at his utter lack of manners. "So, like, how do you wanna do this, Doc? You want standard interview coverage, or something more bare bones? 'Cause if you want me to set up a second camera over her shoulder to get your reactions, that's gonna take more time for me to edit it all together." He took another drink. "And more money."

Andersen looked down at the credit card in his hand. "I thought you said this was for a class project, Mr. Stephenson."

"It is," Stephenson conceded. "But the electricity ain't free here, you know." He gestured toward the lights. "You have any idea how much wattage it takes to run these bad boys here? Course, you got a problem with what the media department charges for their facilities, you can always talk to Dr. Ingeborson." He shrugged. "I'm sure he'd love to go over the charges with you in detail. And he's such a fun guy to hang out with, you know." He giggled to himself as he glanced down at the logo on his shirt. "If anyone needs a toke or two to loosen up, it's him—"

"Thank you, Mr. Stephenson," Andersen interrupted, holding up his hand. _I weep for the future of humanity, _he thought to himself as Stephenson lit up a cigarette Andersen could tell right away was most certainly not made of tobacco. _Still, this is everything you've spent your entire career waiting for, Jan. Now's not the time to cut corners._

"Whatever it takes to look professional and impressive, Mr. Stephenson," Andersen said, sitting in one of the chairs behind the camera across from Elsa. He gestured for Anna to join him in the chair to his left. "Whatever it takes."

"It's your money, Doc," Stephenson said. Inhaling a drag from his herbal cigarette, he stood before Elsa, studying her face intently.

"What . . . Um, what are you doing?" Elsa asked, her fingers clenching the armrests of her chair tightly from his invasion of her personal space. She flinched slightly as the young man attached a small lapel microphone to her blazer.

"Relax," Stephenson said, reaching up to one of the lights above, adjusting the angle ever-so-slightly. "I'm just getting the lighting right."

"It's fine, Elsa," Anna said, rising from her chair, moving to stand beside the uncomfortable woman. "He's just—"

"Son of a bitch!"

Stephenson turned to Anna, an annoyed expression on his face as he gestured toward Anna's shadow which now lay atop Elsa's form. "What do you think you're doing? You just messed it all up!"

"Sorry!" Anna snapped back at him, returning to her seat. "Jeez. You artistic types need to just calm down—"

Stephenson glared at her. "If I weren't already feeling really high right about now, I'd be pretty pissed off at you. You know I've been shooting video since I was seven years old, right? Have you seen the film I made for my admission submission? Of course you haven't!" He shook his head. "I'm like freakin' Kubrick reincarnated here, and you're acting like getting professional quality shots is so easy anyone can do it!" He made one final adjustment to the lights, bringing his eye to the camera. Satisfied, he turned to Andersen. "Sorry 'bout that, Doc. We're good to go here."

"Thank you," Andersen said. He looked at Elsa. "Don't be nervous."

"I'm not," Elsa lied, wishing with every fiber of her being she were back in the Forest once more.

"It's fine," Andersen said. He held up a stack of notecards. "Now, I'm going to just go straight through a series of basic questions with you. Simple things about your background, your history, your abilities, and so forth. Some of these you already answered for Miss Reinhart the other day, but I need you to answer them again under more . . ." He glared at Stephenson, the young man now taking a very, very slow drag on his "herbal" cigarette. "More _professional _conditions."

"I understand," Elsa said softly.

"Perfect." He turned to Stephenson. "We're ready."

* * *

"You did great!"

Anna held Elsa's arm tightly as the two women exited the media center, the afternoon sun shining brightly upon them.

"Did I?" Elsa looked at Anna uncertainly. "I . . . I did, didn't I? You don't think it was too much, coating the entire floor with ice and making it snow in there, do you?"

"Are you kidding?" Anna could barely contain her laughter. "The look on that Stephenson's face when you did that! I thought he was going to pass out! Or at least, swear to never light up again!"

Elsa smiled, relieved that Samantha . . . Anna was speaking so positively about her performance. "So, do you think Dr. Andersen has what he needed from me now?"  
"Oh, yeah," Anna said. "I've never seen him so happy before. He's probably in there now, waiting for it to be edited so he can rush a copy over to the other side of campus and tell everyone who's ever doubted him how wrong they've been all these years." She grinned broadly. "You've really made him happy, Elsa."

The Lady nodded. "So. What do we do the rest of the day?"

"Oh."

Anna frowned. "Well, I hadn't really thought about that." Her eyes widened. "What would _you _like to do? I mean, this is your chance to see what the modern world is like, after all."

Elsa looked around, taking in the hustle and bustle of the afternoon streets. "Well, for starters, I . . ." She felt her cheeks turn slightly red as she heard her stomach growl. "It seems you're a bad influence on me. I suddenly find myself wanting to eat more than I have in a long, long time."

"Great!"

Anna's eyes lit up at the prospect of lunch. "Oh, wait." She frowned. "I gave Dr. Andersen his credit card back. I'm not exactly rolling in cash right now." She glanced in the direction of the university dining hall. "Well, it's not the best food in the world, but it's free, and—"

Elsa shook her head, a mischievous smile on her lips. "Actually, I was thinking a special occasion like this deserves something a little more . . . high class." She reached into her blazer, withdrawing a large wad of bills.

Anna's jaw nearly unhinged itself at the sight. "Where . . . Where did you _get _that much money?!"

Elsa shrugged. "Kristoff gave it to me before we left the Forest. He said he had plenty saved up over the years and wanted to make sure I . . . _we _would have some spending money. And he wouldn't take no for an answer." She put the money back in her jacket. "I know he can be rough around the edges, but he's a good man, Anna."

"Yeah. Sure. If you say so."

Anna shook her head. "I don't care if your sister ended up marrying someone who looked just like him. There is no way—no way—I would ever, ever even consider—"

Elsa held up her hands. "Sorry." She took Anna's hand. "So, you're the expert on modern Arendelle around here. What do you recommend for a really good lunch?"

"Actually," Anna said. "I know just the place . . ."

* * *

"How much longer?"

Andersen paced about the small control room in the media center, anxiously glancing at his watch. _3:25. _The professor inhaled, taking a sip from the Styrofoam cup of coffee he'd purchased from the machine down the hall that had long since gone as cold as the ice Elsa had conjured hours earlier. He glanced at his watch again. _3:25. _"Damn!"

"You can't rush art, Doc."

Stephenson rubbed his eyes, his face still somewhat pale from the impossibility he had witnessed during the interview. "I must have gotten a bad stash," he muttered under his breath. "This is all just a crazy hallucination." He giggled again, taking another puff from the lit cigarette on his lip. "You want some of this, Doc?" he asked. "Might take the edge off—"

"For the last time, Mr. Stephenson, no, I don't want any of your goddamned pot!" Andersen snapped. "I want my interview, and if you don't give it to me in the next minute I'm hauling your ass straight before the student disciplinary board and having you expelled for use of drug paraphernalia on campus!"

"You wouldn't cut off Van Gogh's ear while he was painting, would you, Doc?" Stephenson protested. "You wanted art? Well, art takes time!" He rubbed his eyes. "Especially since I have to include the timestamps from both cameras to prove the little . . . whatever it was your lady friend pulled during the interview actually happened in real time and isn't just special effects we added in post." He giggled, his bloodshot eyes wide as he stared at the monitors before him, his fingers furiously moving about the keyboard.

"Fine."

Andersen ran a hand through his beard, leaning back against the console behind him. "Sorry I threatened to have you expelled, Mr. Stephenson. I won't say a word about your, ahem, _habits_, so long as you keep what you witnessed today strictly between us."

"You got it, Doc," Stephenson said, nodding approvingly. He punched in a few more keystrokes before letting out a resounding, "Ha!" He reached for the computer's disc drive, retrieving a DVD. Placing it in a sleeve, he handed it to the professor. "Here you go, Doc. All finished."

Andersen regarded the disc in his hands. "This is it? The whole thing?"

"Yep." Stephenson gestured toward the computer. "I also took the liberty of sending a copy of the edited interview plus the master files from both cameras to your e-mail."

Andersen nodded. "Thank you." He frowned, considering something. "Who, exactly, has access to the original files on this server?"

Stephenson laughed. "Just you and me, Doc," he said. "I've got it heavily encrypted. Not even the boys in IT can crack it, I promise you that."

Andersen raised an eyebrow. "So not only are you an auteur, but you're also a hacker as well?"

"Everyone needs a hobby," Stephenson said, shrugging.

"Fine."

Andersen patted Stephenson on the shoulder. "Thank you, Mr. Stephenson. You've been very helpful today. Very helpful indeed. I'll be sure to send Dr. Ingeborson an e-mail recommending you pass your A/V course."

"Thanks, Doc," Stephenson called over his shoulder as Andersen exited the control room and made his way out of the media center back toward his office. Satisfied he was alone, Stephenson reached into his pocket, withdrawing another "herbal" cigarette. "Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath as he lit the cigarette, inhaling slowly. "I've gotta watch this again. No way did that actually happen. No freakin' way."

With a loud _click _from the keyboard, the two monitors before him began replaying the raw, unedited interview from the beginning, the monitor to his left playing back the footage of Elsa, while the monitor on the right replayed the footage captured by the B camera of Andersen and the girl . . . Anna something or other.

_"For starters, why don't you tell us when you were born."_

Andersen's voice rang out from the speakers as the recorded image of the professor asked the first question of the interview. On the other monitor, Elsa leaned backwards, closing her eyes momentarily before opening them again.

_"Well . . . I'm certain this will sound crazy,"_ Elsa began.

_"Indulge us,"_ Andersen countered.

_"Go on, Elsa,"_ Anna said, leaning forward. _"Tell him . . ."_ Her head gestured toward the camera. _"_Them _what you told me in the Forest."_

"Yeah, tell them, Elsa," Stephenson said, rolling his eyes.

_"I was born on the winter solstice, at midnight. Just as St. Thomas's Day came to an end,"_ Elsa said, her hands clutching one another as her eyes looked about anxiously._ "So on . . . On the twenty-second of December."_

Andersen leaned forward. _"What year, Elsa?"_

Elsa inhaled slowly. _"1817. More . . . More than two hundred years ago."_

Stephenson laughed as he shook his head. "She's nuts, Doc. Certifiable." He pressed the fast forward button on the keyboard, taking a swig of beer as the images on both monitors sped rapidly by. "I don't know what you think you're doing, Doc, trying to stake your academic career on her, but if I were you, I'd . . ."

He pressed the pause button. The monitor to his right showed Elsa, hand outstretched, silver and blue light beginning to emanate from her hand. "How are you doing that, girl?" Stephenson muttered to himself, leaning forward toward the monitor. His fingers tapped the keyboard, causing the video to progress frame by frame. With each frame, the glow in Elsa's hand grew brighter, more intense, until for five consecutive frames all the camera had captured was whitish-blue light that filled the entire monitor.

"Ah-ha!"

Stephenson rose, clapping his hands triumphantly. "That's how you did it, isn't it? Some sort of trick light stuffed up your sleeve or something. A diversion to make us look away, while you . . ."

He pressed the play button again, the image progressing at its regular speed. Stephenson's glee turned to confusion as on the screen before him, Elsa conjured snow and ice _from her fingertips, _the wintry elements swirling and coalescing about the camera in a manner that Stephenson knew was utterly impossible for any practical effects of which he was aware to be employed in real time in such a manner. Sinking back into his chair, he took a long, hard look at his "herbal" cigarette before finally stubbing it out.

"Maybe I need to quit after all," he muttered to himself. Rubbing his eyes, he pressed the fast forward button again, moving the video toward the end of the interview. Pressing "play," he allowed the playback to resume.

_". . . So you and your sister became close again after that?"_

Andersen's voice emanated from the speakers. On the right monitor, Elsa smiled, her face filled with what could only be described as pure, unadulterated happiness.

_"More than close,"_ Elsa responded. _"More like . . . Like inseparable. She . . . She was my best friend."_ She smiled._ "She used to tell me she was the sun, and I was . . . I was the moon."_

"Oh, please," Stephenson grumbled. "What kind of insane, codependent garbage is—"

He paused as he glanced at the left monitor, frowning as he did so. Something had caught his eye he hadn't noticed before, although he wasn't able to put his finger on precisely just what it was. He moved the mouse on the desk before him, rewinding the footage back fifteen seconds or so, pressing play.

_". . . She . . . She was my best friend,"_ Elsa repeated from the right monitor. Stephenson ignored her for the moment, focusing his attention on the left hand monitor—specifically, on the girl, Anna Whatserface.

_"She used to tell me she was the sun, and I was . . . I was the—"_

"What the hell?"

Stephenson shook his head, trying his best to make damn certain he wasn't imagining things. It had been subtle, almost imperceptible, but he was confident he had noticed it that time. He rewound the video once more, playing it frame by frame this time as he had a few minutes earlier with the other segment of the interview.

"There!"

Stephenson paused the video, stroking his chin. Right at the frame that aligned with Elsa's comment about how her sister had called herself the sun, something was noticeably different about Anna's face. To be absolutely certain, Stephenson moved back a frame, then forward once more. His frown deepened. _I'll be damned!_

He punched a few keys on the keyboard, the printer at the other end of the room roaring to life in response. Rising from his chair, he moved to the printer, retrieving the two pieces of paper the machine had belched out. Sitting back in his chair, he studied the two screenshots he had printed off, his brow furrowing in concentration.

There was no mistaking it now, he realized. He hadn't been imagining things. It had been nearly impossible to notice with the video playing in real time, but having gone frame by frame, he realized his instincts were correct. For the briefest of moments, Anna's body language—her posture, the dilation of her pupils, the expression on her face—had changed, to the point that had Stephenson not known any better, he would have sworn he was looking at two different women, regardless of the fact that they shared the same face. Sliding his chair back to the console, he moved frame by frame forward through the footage once more. "Holy . . ."

Anna's lips were moving ever so subtly, Stephenson noticed. Rewinding the video, he played the clip back in real time once more. Elsa's voice emanated from the speakers yet again. _"She used to tell me she was the sun, and I was . . . I was the moon . . ."_

Stephenson stopped the playback. Not only had Anna's entire demeanor shifted while Elsa had said that line, but Anna's lips had moved, forming the words before they even left Elsa's lips. As soon as Elsa had paused, the effect had dissipated and the Anna Stephenson had seen moments ago had returned. But for the briefest of seconds . . .

Stephenson folded his arms, thinking deeply. This was really none of his business, he told himself. None of his business at all. And yet, he was _involved_ now, and dammit, he was going to figure out just what was going on with these people. _I may be a pothead and a mere film student, _he thought to himself, _but I'm not _stupid_ . . ._

He ran a hand through his red hair, reaching for the phone next to him on the desk. Picking up the receiver, he dialed a number. "Hello," he said. "Student records? Is Ingrid working today?"

He smiled broadly, hoping his disposition and charm manifested itself on the other end of the line. "Ingrid? It's me, Hans." He held up a hand. "Wait! Don't . . . Don't hang up! You're not still mad about—"

He stopped talking, rolling his eyes as the voice on the other end of the line began lecturing him about his manifest shortcomings. "Yeah. Yeah, I know, and I'm _sorry, _I really am! But Ingrid . . . Sweet, sweet Ingrid . . . Can you do a little favor for me, please? For old time's sake?"

He rubbed his brow. "Of course I'd love to have dinner with you tomorrow night!" _Dammit! _Grimacing, he did his best to sound genuinely ecstatic at the prospect. "Wonderful! Couldn't be happier! Now, Ingrid, could you please do me that favor now?"

He reached for the papers Andersen had given him when he had reserved the media center, scanning them quickly. _There it is. _"Yes, Ingrid. I need you to get me some information on another student." He frowned. "Of course I know you're not _supposed _to share that sort of thing, but it's me, Ingrid! Come on! Please?"

His grin widened. "Perfect. You're a saint, Ingrid! Oh, the name?" He glanced back down at the paper. "Reinhart. Yeah, that's right. Anna Reinhart." He rubbed his chin. "I need everything you have on her. And I do mean _everything _. . ."

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	10. Chapter 10: Lullaby

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Ten**

**Lullaby**

**Monday, March 25, 2019**

"Maybe eating here wasn't such a good idea."

Anna's eyes widened as she stared at the menu before her. She and Elsa were seated at Lefebvre's, the most upscale establishment in Arendelle, the paragon of haute cuisine in this part of Europe.

They had not even been seated for five minutes, and already Anna felt entirely out of her element. "I mean, look at this! The _soup _is . . ." She whipped out her phone, quickly running a currency conversion app, her face paling at the result. "Are you kidding me?! Thirty-five dollars for a bowl of bisque—"

"It's fine," Elsa said, taking a drink of water from the crystal goblet before her. "I told you, I'm buying." She smiled ever-so-slightly as an ironic thought occurred to her. "Since when are you the anxious one, Miss Optimistic?"

"Yeah, well," Anna muttered, carefully lifting her own goblet from the table, terrified at the prospect of how much it would cost to replace it were she to accidentally drop it. "I suppose it's easy for queens and all to not have to worry about money. But for those of us who didn't exactly have a lot of it growing up, it's kind of a big deal."

An awkward silence descended upon their table. Elsa's eyes were downcast, realizing Anna was all-too-correct. In spite of the inner demons that had tormented her for so long as a result of her . . . uniqueness, she _had _lived a life of privilege for so long, she conceded to herself, and even in the Forest, she had never wanted for much of anything; how could she possibly understand what the young woman seated across from her had experienced in her formative years? Anna, for her part, shifted uncomfortably in her chair, realizing she had unintentionally revealed more about her background than she had intended.

"So . . ."

Anna finally broke the silence. "The soup looks really good, actually."

"I know," Elsa agreed, smiling slightly. She paused. "I . . . I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Elsa grimaced. "For—"

Before the Lady could complete her sentence, Anna jumped as her phone began to vibrate. Glancing down, she nodded to herself. "It's Dr. Andersen," she said, bringing the device to her ear. "Hello?"

She furrowed her brow. "I'm sorry, sir. I can't . . ." She gestured in frustration with her free hand, her hand waving toward the lunchtime crowd that suddenly seemed louder to her ears now that she was trying to actually _listen _to her mentor on the phone. "I can't hear you in here. Hold on."

Rising, she gestured toward the restaurant door. Elsa nodded understandingly. "I'll order for you," she said quietly. "The soup?"

"And the pork!" Anna mouthed, pointing to the menu. Turning on her heel, she made her way toward the door of the restaurant. Exiting, she ducked into an alley just a few steps from the restaurant, making her way toward the tall brick wall near its innermost recesses.

"Sorry, sir," Anna apologized. "Can you hear me now?"

"Most assuredly, Miss Reinhart." Andersen's voice emanated from the phone, a trace of annoyance in his tone. "I trust you and the Lady are enjoying yourselves."

"Of course," Anna responded. "How about you? How's the interview turning out?"

There was a long pause. In the background, Anna could hear the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by several footsteps echoing down a corridor. "My apologies, Miss Reinhart," Andersen finally answered. "I wanted to make certain Mr. Stephenson wasn't in earshot before casting aspersions upon his work. Or lack thereof." He paused again. "That, and I needed some fresh air. A man can only stomach the scent of those, ah, 'herbal cigarettes' of his for so long before needing to clear his head, after all."

Anna smiled. "Sorry."

"No apology necessary, Miss Reinhart," Andersen said. "I'm counting on you to keep our guest of honor entertained and happy until we're ready to let those who've doubted our work . . . what's the expression you Americans use? 'Have their noses rubbed in it'?" He cursed under his breath. "Dammit, Mr. Stephenson! It's 2:00 already, and . . ."

He cleared his throat. "Anyway, as soon as our interview is edited, I'm going straight to Chancellor Isaacson's office and making him watch it." Anna could sense Andersen's lips curling upward in a malicious grin even through the phone. "I can't wait to see the look on his face when he sees what I've . . . sorry, what _we've _accomplished!"

Anna frowned, glancing toward the street at the far end of the alleyway. She had been gone from the restaurant longer than she had intended, and she did not want Elsa to worry about her. Pressing her phone tighter to her ear, she tried her best to steer the conversation toward a conclusion. "That's . . . That's wonderful, sir. But I—"

Andersen cut her off. "I know what you're thinking, Miss Reinhart. Normally, I'd agree with you that we should proceed slowly, with careful reflection. But like I told you just the other day—dear God in heaven, has it really only been just a few days?—I've waited decades for this now. Year after year after year of being the laughingstock of this institution, of constantly having my academic integrity questioned, mocked even!" Andersen's voice was unusually agitated, Anna noted, his typical calm, detached demeanor giving way to righteous indignation and bitterness. "Well, no more!" He paused momentarily, calming himself. "Rest assured, Miss Reinhart, I have every intention of letting the Chancellor know just who it was who aided me in this endeavor. And if the man has any sense at all, he'll know to reward you for your efforts with—"

Through the phone, Anna could hear a voice in the distance calling out to Andersen. "So, Doc, are you, like, gonna to come check this or what, dude?"

A heavy sigh filled Anna's ear. "Nice to know the future of academia is in such capable hands, isn't it, Miss Reinhart?" Andersen cleared his throat. "Well, I'll let you and the Lady get back to whatever it is the two of you are up to at the moment. You do seem to have a natural connection with one another, after all. In the meantime, I'll text you as soon as I've informed Isaacson of our little project. Good afternoon to you, Miss Reinhart."

Andersen hung up before Anna could respond. Placing her phone back in the pocket of her trousers, she frowned. Andersen's tone of voice toward the end of the conversation—the resentment, the desire for retribution after a fashion toward those he felt had wronged him—bothered her. _After all, _Anna considered to herself, _Elsa's a _person_, not a means to an end. I don't—_

"You!"

Startled, Anna turned toward the voice. A man was standing not more than five feet away from her, his gaze fixated upon her own, his presence more than adequate to prevent her from leaving the alley without having to negotiate some manner of getting around him first.

"Ex– . . . Excuse me," Anna said, trying to project an air of confidence.

The man standing before her refused to budge. He was eying her clothing, her hair. "Purse. Now."

"What?"

Anna backed away slightly, peering around the man, trying to determine how much clearance she had should she choose to make a run for it.

"You heard me," the man said, advancing toward her, his grip tightening on the knife in his hand. "You've obviously got money, judging by your clothes. That blouse ain't exactly cheap."

"What? This?" Anna laughed nervously. "It's . . . It's nothing. Someone gave it to me—"

"Liar!"

The man clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing. "C'mon, sweetheart. No one who can afford to eat at Lefebvre's is hurting for cash. I ain't stupid, you know. I _saw_ you come out of there." He gestured toward the bag on her arm. "Purse. _Now!_"

Realizing she had few other options, Anna nodded. "All . . . All right." She removed her purse from her shoulder slowly, offering it to the man. "Here."

Her opponent regarded her suspiciously. "Like I said, I ain't stupid, girl," he said. "Don't even think about trying any tricks like dropping it or anything like that."

Anna nodded, trying her best to disguise the fear raging through her. "No tricks," she whispered. "Just take it."

The man snatched the purse from her grasp. Still holding his knife before him toward Anna with one hand, with the other he turned the purse over, allowing its contents to spill onto the ground. "What the hell?" he muttered as his eyes beheld little more than a few small bills and an open wallet conspicuously devoid of credit cards. His gaze returned to Anna, his lip trembling with anger, the knife rising to the level of her eyes. "What sort of games are you—"

Anna never made a conscious decision to move. The next thing she knew, she was sprinting down the alley, her breath caught in her throat. Unfortunately for her, her assailant was significantly faster, as well as, Anna noted in the recesses of her mind, _not _wearing high heels. A scream caught in her throat as the man grabbed hold of her blouse from behind, whirling her about. Her inertia sent her tumbling into the row of garbage cans lined against the building, the sound all but inaudible over the busy hustle and bustle of the traffic emanating from the street beyond the alley's confines.

"That was _not _a smart decision, missy," the man snarled as he stood above Anna. Reaching down, he pulled the young woman to her feet by the collar of her blouse, slamming her against the brick lining the wall of the building. His left hand covered Anna's mouth, preventing her from screaming for help, while his right hand pressed the dull edge of his knife against her cheek. A dark smile tugged at his lips as Anna's eyes grew wide, as her body began to tremble involuntarily as she realized just how dangerous her predicament had become.

"If you would have just given me your money," the man stated, his tone flat, offended, even, that Anna had refused such a simple request. "I would have been on my way. But then you had to go and try to run away from me like that." His smile broadened as he brought the tip of the knife to Anna's cheek, a droplet of blood emerging from her skin as the student whimpered in terror. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this, anyway?" the man asked, cocking his head toward the darkness of the alley. "Didn't your parents ever tell you not to wander into dark alleys by yourself?"

Anna could barely think, could barely comprehend that what was taking place was actually happening to her. In the dim recesses of her consciousness, the academic portion of her mind noted she was trying to dissociate herself from what was happening, that the fear she felt belonged to a different person entirely. As if through a fog, she could sense her hands grasping about in desperation, trying with all their might to take hold of something—_anything_—that could be used as a weapon. Through the same haze, she heard the man's sneering laughter, as if he were amused at her pathetic attempt to defend herself. The blade was pressing against her cheek once more, but she couldn't feel pain, couldn't feel anything at all. Blackness began to overtake her, but not before she felt a rush of wind colder than any she had felt before swirl around her, not before she heard the man's laughter turn to a cry of annoyance, than a cry of terror of his own, not before she heard a voice—feminine, yet powerful, authoritative—command: _"Get away from my sister . . .!"_

* * *

_ "Do the magic, Elsa! Please! Do the magic again!"_

_ She was jumping about mounds of snow, her pajamas covered in soft powder as she laughed and laughed. Her five-year-old self giggled as her older sister conjured more of the cool substance in her palm, the warm summer air billowing in from the open windows of the castle ballroom doing nothing to melt the wintry scene._

_ She shrieked as her eight-year-old sister hurled a handful of snow toward her, the flakes hitting her directly in the cheek. "No fair!" she cried, pressing her hands to her hips in mock indignation. "You tricked-ed me, Elsa!"_

_ Her sister laughed, brushing a lock of platinum blonde hair from her face. "You said, 'Do the magic.' You didn't say what you _wanted _me to do with it!"_

_ She was pouting now, arms crossed. "ELSAAAAAA!"_

_ Elsa yawned elaborately. "Oh, my. It is _way _past your bedtime, Miss Anna."_

_ "You're not the boss of me!" she protested, stamping her foot._

_ Elsa raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? When Father and Mother are gone on a trip, I most certainly am, Your Highness."_

_ "Awww!"_

_ She tried her best to keep herself from revealing just how tired she actually was, stifling a yawn as her older sister led her by the arm upstairs to their bedroom. "Now," Elsa said, tucking her in bed. "Get some sleep."_

_ "But I _can't _sleep!" she protested. "I'm too excited-ed!"_

_ Elsa sighed. "Anna, please. Come on. I'm tired too, and—"_

_ Elsa's voice trailed off as she saw her a tear run down her younger sister's cheek. "What's wrong?"_

_ The younger girl whimpered, pulling the blankets to her chin. "I miss Mama and Papa!"_

_ Elsa sighed. "I know. I miss them, too. But you _know _they have to go away every now and then. That's what happens when you're king and queen." She kissed her sister's brow, the coolness of her lips causing the young girl to squirm. "They'll be back in a few days. Get some sleep." She rolled onto her side of the bed, closing her eyes._

_ "Elsa?"_

_ Elsa's eyes opened as her sister's voice echoed about the bedroom. The voice was filled with fear, with worry. "What is it?" she yawned, turning back to face her sister._

_ The young girl's eyes were wide, as if contemplating a terrible thought. "Elsa, when you're queen, are you . . ." She paused. "Are you goin' to leave me all by my lonesome? Are you goin' to run away from me?"_

_ "Anna!"_

_ Elsa pulled her sister close, wrapping her arms around her. "Why would you even think that? I'll _never _leave you alone!"_

_ The young girl stared into Elsa's ice blue eyes. "Promise?"_

_ Elsa smiled. "Promise."_

_ The young girl smiled, her eyes closing as she lost herself in the coolness of her older sister's touch. As Elsa held her sister, a soft, quiet melody sprung from her lips, as if of its own accord:_

_ "Hush, my sweetness. Don't you cry,  
__For I will sing you a lullaby.  
__Close your eyes and do not fear;  
__Nothing will harm you while I am here._

_ Dream, dream of wonders  
__This world cannot contain.  
__Lay, lay your worries down  
__Like a flowing stream of gentle rain . . ."_

_ The soft snores emanating from her sister brought a smile to Elsa's lips. Not even attempting to extricate herself from the girl's grasp, Elsa closed her eyes, her lips moving of their own accord as she sank into blissful slumber:_

_ "Hush, my sister. Stay with me.  
__Together, forever, we will always be . . ."_

* * *

Anna opened her eyes, blinking as she tried to make sense of just where she was. She was in her apartment, she realized after a moment, lying in her own bed. _How . . . How did I get here? _she wondered to herself. Her hands began to shake of their own accord as her mind suddenly drew the last thing she remembered—herself, pressed forcefully against the brick wall within the alley, the knife pressed against her cheek, a burst of frigid wind swirling about, a torrent of ice and snow cascading down the alley—to the forefront of her consciousness. Her fingers flew to her cheek, surprise washing over her as she felt a small bandage against her flesh.

"Hey."

Anna turned her head to her right, astonished. "Elsa?" she whispered.

The Lady lowered herself onto the bed next to the young woman, a sad smile upon her face. Her hand moved over Anna's brow, brushing aside the strands of hair that had escaped Anna's bun. The coolness of her touch did not phase Anna in the slightest; rather, she welcomed it, allowing it to soothe her, to take the fear away.

"What . . . What happened?" Anna finally asked after several moments of silence. "I . . . I don't remember coming back here."

Elsa brought her fingers to Anna's cheek, grazing ever-so-carefully against the small bandage. "I was waiting for you," the Lady began at last. "When you didn't come back into the restaurant, I went looking for you." Her ice blue eyes narrowed, darkening. "I didn't see you on the street at all. So I started looking down all the side streets I could find and . . ."

Her voice trailed off, her free hand clenched tightly. "I scared him away. Whoever he was, he . . ." She breathed slowly, a slight breeze of cool air suddenly swirling through the apartment. "He won't bother you ever again." She paused, considering something. "If he's wiser than he appears, he won't show his face in Arendelle ever again, for that matter."

Anna nodded, the shock of her ordeal still overwhelming her. "I thought . . . I thought you said you swore you would never use your powers to hurt someone."

Elsa turned away. "I didn't actually _hurt _him," she whispered. "I just . . . made it clear that if he ever, _ever _tries anything like this again and I find out about it, I cannot promise I will be as merciful as I was today." She turned back toward Anna. "After he fled, I helped you walk back here, and then . . ." She gestured toward the bed. "You needed rest."

Anna closed her eyes, shuddering. Before she could stop herself, she felt tears flowing from her eyes, the terror of what she had experienced mingling with her shame at having allowed herself to be put in a position where she had been so helpless, so dependent upon Elsa to rescue her that the Lady had been forced to expose her abilities. It was several minutes before she realized Elsa was holding her tightly, allowing Anna to sob into Elsa's shoulder without protest.

"I'm sorry," Anna whispered. "I . . . I'm not usually this weak."

Elsa's grip on her tightened. "You are not weak," the Lady corrected. "And you never have to apologize for anything with me. Do you understand? _Ever._"

Anna nodded, at long last removing her face from Elsa's shoulder. Wiping her eyes, she frowned. "Did . . . Did you call me your sister? In the alley?"

Elsa's pale cheeks turned red. "I . . . I'm afraid in my anger, I lost my senses for a moment. I . . ." She clutched her hands. "I won't make that mistake again, Samantha."

Anna rubbed her temples, trying to clear her head. "No. I . . ." She breathed slowly, deliberately. "I know you aren't, but I . . . It would be nice if you were, I guess is what I'm trying to say."

Elsa frowned. "If I were what?"

Anna's hands had finally ceased their trembling. She brought her fingers to Elsa's chin, cupping it gently. "If you _were_ my sister. I . . . I would be honored if that were the case."

Elsa's lips turned upward in a gentle, protective smile. "Thank you," she whispered. She removed her blazer, setting it on the nightstand. "You must be hungry," she said. "We never even had the chance to eat lunch."

"Actually . . ."

Anna laid her head back on the pillow, her eyes suddenly heavy. "Actually, if it's all right with you, I just . . . I just want to rest a little bit more." She laughed to herself. "Look at me. Saying 'no' to food. You _know _I've had a bad day when that happens."

Exhaustion weighing heavily upon her, Anna did not protest when Elsa lay next to her, when the Lady carefully, delicately shifted the young woman's head until it rested upon her shoulder. Anna closed her eyes, smiling slightly at the sensation of her hair coming to rest upon her neck as Elsa expertly undid her bun with her free hand. A gentle melody emanated from Elsa's throat, the same melody Anna had found herself humming the night before—_had it really only been one night, _Anna wondered—as she had brushed Elsa's hair.

"Hush, my sweetness, do not cry," Elsa sang, her voice soft. "For I will sing you a lullaby."

As Anna allowed herself to be carried away to the realm of slumber, her lips moved of their own accord, her voice barely audible as she fell asleep. "Close your eyes and . . . do not fear . . ." she mumbled. "Nothing will harm you while I . . . while I . . ."

Had Anna been awake, she would have seen an expression of alarm and confusion momentarily flash across Elsa's face. As it was, the young academic allowed the mixture of the warmth of her bed and the cool yet inviting touch of the Lady in White to reassure her that, while she slumbered, nothing, in fact, could or would harm her.

* * *

**AN: My apologies for how long it has taken me to update. The past two months have been . . . less than ideal for writing. Hopefully, that will soon change. More to come!**


	11. Chapter 11: Duplicity

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Duplicity**

**Monday, March 25, 2019**

Chancellor Isaacson was not having a particularly good day.

He had spent the better part of his afternoon in what seemed nothing more than a series of interminable meetings. The university's finances, to be blunt, were an unmitigated disaster. Revenues from the university's investment in various patents developed by the applied sciences department were failing to meet their projections. The faculty pension fund was hardly any better for that matter. These matters, coupled with what seemed to Isaacson never-ending increases in operating expenses, had forced the chancellor to conclude that unless drastic fiscal measures were phased in over the next five years, the university would be insolvent by the conclusion of the next decade.

Isaacson sighed, placing the receiver of his office phone down. The conversation he had just had with the president of the board of regents had done nothing to ease the pain in his abdomen, pain, Isaacson suspected, was the byproduct of the ulcer that had most certainly formed over the past few weeks of constant stress. _Figure it out! That's what we pay you for, goddammit! _The board president's words echoed in Isaacson's ears.

The chancellor rose from his desk, moving toward the window on the other side of his office. Loosening his tie, he gazed pensively through the glass, the orange hues of the slowly setting sun drenching Arendelle in what, to an outsider, would be considered ethereal beauty. Reaching into the pocket of his shirt, Isaacson withdrew a long cigar, expertly cutting off the tip with the ever-present tool he kept in his trousers. Lighting the cigar, the chancellor inhaled slowly, savoring the taste of the tobacco, the smoke slowly swirling about the office.

Isaacson had been thrilled and honored to have been named chancellor of the University of Arendelle fifteen years earlier, he ruminated. Indeed, the proudest day in his career had been the day he had received the call from the same board of regents president with whom he had just spoken, the call that had informed him he had been selected to lead one of the oldest academic institutions in Europe. Isaacson had leaped at the opportunity, even though it had meant sacrificing the security of his tenured position as professor of classics at Oxford. And while he missed the classroom, Isaacson admitted, the prestige of having an entire university under his charge had provided him with satisfaction of a much deeper sort.

_That, _Isaacson contemplated, _along with the perks. _Inhaling deeply once more, he strode to his desk, running his free hand gently along the aged wood. His office, so he had been told upon first accepting the position, had once been the personal study of the reigning monarchs of what had at one time been the kingdom of Arendelle. No one still living knew for certain just how old his desk actually was, but local legend maintained it had been constructed more than two hundred years ago by the greatest woodworker in the 'Delle for the use of the great King Agnarr himself—

The chancellor was roused from his thoughts by the sudden _buzz _from the intercom on his desk phone. Shaking his head, Isaacson glanced at his watch, wondering why his secretary would feel the need to bother him so late in the day. He picked up the receiver. "Yes, Irene? What is it?"

The door to his office burst open. Momentarily startled, Isaacson regained his composure, groaning inwardly as he beheld his intruder. "Dr. Andersen," the chancellor said, slowly, his eyes moving to his flustered secretary who had followed the professor into the office. "To what do I owe the pleasure for this unexpected . . . visit?"

"I'm so sorry, sir!" Irene sputtered, her hands flailing about with stress. "I was in the middle of informing the professor here . . ." She shot Andersen a furious glare. "That he did not have an appointment and would have to come back later! But—"

Andersen nonchalantly seated himself in the chair across from Isaacson's desk, removing a cigar from the humidor Isaacson kept next to his phone. Irene let out shriek of indignation. "Really, Dr. Andersen! Tenure or not, you cannot just barge in here and—"

Andersen paid her no mind. Lighting the cigar with his own lighter, he took several puffs in a row, allowing the flavor to coat his tongue. "I must say, George," he said. "This is one damn fine cigar."

Isaacson's eye twitched noticeably. Sighing, he gestured for Irene to exit the office, the secretary muttering furiously to herself regarding Andersen's appalling lack of courtesy. Shutting the door, the chancellor eyed his visitor. Much as he detested the man, much as he wished he could travel back in time and knock some sense his predecessor regarding the professor's tenured status, the simple fact was Andersen _was _a tenured professor, and, as such, was entitled to certain rights and accommodations, no matter how uncouthly he may be behaving at the moment. Simply throwing the man out, Isaacson considered, would lead to nothing more than the faculty union filing a grievance against him, and that was a battle the chancellor most certainly did _not _need considering everything else currently on his plate.

"So, Dr. Andersen . . . Jan," Isaacson finally said, sitting behind his desk, folding his hands. "What brings you here in such theatrical fashion? I would have imagined you would have been spending your week off writing fairy tales about the North Forest again. Or did you finally give that up after all these years?"

"Ha, ha," Andersen retorted coolly. "You know, that's the problem with you administrative types. You have no imagination whatsoever."

Isaacson raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I have plenty of imagination, believe me, Jan. I just choose not to waste it on fruitless endeavors that make me the laughingstock of the academic world."

Andersen rolled his eyes. "Are we going to do this again, George? Really? You want to talk about 'imagination'? This coming from the man the students voted Oxford's 'most likely to make you fall asleep in class with your eyes open' five years in a row?" He chuckled to himself. "Oh, God, I remember the comments some of them wrote! 'Sitting in Dr. Isaacson's class is enough to prove Einstein's theory that time can, in fact, move at an interminable rate when'—"

Isaacson cleared his throat, his eyes shooting invisible daggers at the professor seated across from him. "I would like to go home sometime this evening, Jan," the chancellor said, his voice flat yet frigid as ice. "So I'd appreciate it if you would simply make your point, say 'thank you' for the cigar, and be on your way before I—"

Andersen blew a long, slow puff of smoke from his lips. "Actually, George," he said. "When we're finished, I think it's going to be _you _who will be thanking _me_."

Isaacson's eye twitched again. "I don't have time for your nonsense, Doctor."

"I know about the university's financial situation."

_That _had gotten Isaacson's attention. This time, it was his lip that twitched, several times in a row. He opened his mouth, prepared to deny it, not wanting to give Andersen—who for some reason was acting like a right, smug son of a bitch—the satisfaction. His denial disappeared into his throat as Andersen held up a stack of spreadsheets—spreadsheets Isaacson recognized in an instant. "Where in the hell did you get those?"

Andersen shrugged innocently. "Well, George, I decided to take a break from writing fairy tales today and call in a few favors from friends I've made over the years in the financial records department. You know, they say when you become a teacher, the first thing to do is make friends with the so-called 'little people.' The janitors. The secretaries—well, not Irene, she's never liked me, and I've never much cared for her. The office people who do all the behind-the-scenes work that keeps the place actually running. So when you actually need something useful . . ." He shrugged again. "They're scared, George. They're worried about their jobs, as well they should be with catastrophic numbers like these. But, like I told them, I've got a plan that is going to put this university out of the red and overflowing with so much money, you'll be able to build yourself a second office."

Isaacson's lip twitched again, and again. Finally, he laughed. "You're joking, right, Jan? Just where in the hell do you think you're going to get the kind of money this university needs? The royalties from the sales of your book?" He paused. "Oh, wait. I'm afraid we'll need more than a mere three figures to dig ourselves out of the predicament we're in."

"Once again," Andersen continued, nonplussed. "No imagination whatsoever."

Isaacson took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "Do try to get to your point, Jan. I've had a _very _long day, and a very real budget crisis to solve. And—"

Andersen thrust a DVD forward onto Isaacson's desk. The chancellor regarded the disc for a moment, his brow furrowing. "What is this?"

Andersen smiled. "This, George, is the goose that lays the golden eggs. This, my friend, is the answer to all your problems . . ."

* * *

Half an hour later, Isaacson sat in utter silence, rubbing his eyes once more, hardly believing what he had just witnessed. His laptop glowed, the final frame of the interview recorded on the DVD Andersen had procured still filling the screen. The beautiful woman with the pale skin and platinum blonde hair—Elsa, or whatever her name was—seemed to stare back at him from the monitor, the frigid blueness of her eyes boring directly into the chancellor's soul, or so it felt to him. Wordlessly, he poured himself a glass of fifteen-year-old single malt from the decanter on his desk, taking a long, slow sip from the liquid before opening his lips at long last. "Well, then," he said slowly, every word deliberately chosen. "I suppose . . . I suppose this happened in real time, did it?"

Andersen nodded. "Precisely." For once, his tone was devoid of resentment toward his superior. "No special effects. No tricks. You're welcome to ask a student named Stephenson in the A/V department for confirmation. He can show you the master data, if you wish." Isaacson did not object in the slightest as Andersen reached for the decanter, pouring himself his own glass and taking a long sip of the alcohol. "I assume I have your undivided attention at this point, George."

The chancellor nodded, finally laughing several times as a means to relieve the shock and tension that had come over him ever since he had seen the young woman—_no, not young at all_—in the video perform the impossible and conjure ice and snow _from her own body_. He glanced down at his desk, whistling softly. "The daughter of King Agnarr . . . Queen Elsa herself, long thought dead, turns out to be the legendary Lady in White of the Forest after all." His voice was little more than a whisper; had he been in any sort of position to observe his own reflection, Isaacson would have realized his face was far paler than it had ever been before.

Emptying his glass and pouring himself another, Isaacson rose, pacing about the office, his mind suddenly working furiously. "When the press finds out about this," he said, "they're going to have a field day! Every media outlet in Europe is going to want to report on this, let alone the Americans. And then there's the book deals, the film rights, the . . ." His eyes were wide now, wilder than Andersen had ever seen the chancellor's countenance. His excitement dimmed somewhat as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "But how do we make sure she doesn't run off and do all this without us?"

"We control her," Andersen said matter-of-factly. "That's the beautiful part of all this. She has grown quite . . . attached to my research assistant. So long as we can control Miss Reinhart, the Lady will do whatever we wish." He sipped his own glass. "Trust me, George. I've barely slept since Friday night. I've spent hours going through all this in my head. The Lady didn't come to us, after all. She didn't want the publicity. She only agreed to this because, like I said . . ."

Isaacson scratched his chin, deep in thought. "What, pray tell, do you have planned for your next move?"

Andersen smiled, glancing at his watch. "First, you're going to take me out for the most expensive steak dinner in the city. Then, tomorrow, I have a conference call arranged with the local media outlets. We're going to have a bidding war for the exclusive rights to air the interview here in the 'Delle." He shrugged again. "And I may have sent a brief clip of the interview to a friend I know who works for one of the networks in New York before I paid you a visit this afternoon. Now, I'm not the most technologically savvy man in the world, but I expect that by the time I return home from the, again, _very _expensive dinner you're about to buy me, I'll have at least a dozen e-mails and voicemails to sift through practically begging me—begging _us_, rather—for the American rights to it."

He rose from his chair, patting Isaacson on the shoulder. "Relax, George," he said. "I've thought of everything."

The chancellor's expression was inscrutable, betraying neither approval nor disapproval at Andersen's carefully-crafted plan. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he spoke again. "You really have, haven't you, Jan? Thought of everything, that is?"

Isaacson downed the remaining contents of his glass, the warmth of the liquor coating his throat. "All right, then," he said. "I will let you take the lead on this. This is your project, after all. Your academic reputation you're clearing. But I expect to be kept in the loop on everything. Especially . . ." He glanced toward the laptop on his desk. "Especially when it comes to making sure your little assistant doesn't screw this up and jeopardize the entire project."

Andersen nodded. "Fair enough." He moved to the office door. "Now, about that dinner you're buying me . . ."

Isaacson grimaced. "Yes. About that." He gestured toward the door. "Why don't you go ahead and wait outside for me? I have a few things to finish up around here. I should be down in about twenty minutes or so."

The professor scratched his beard as he regarded his former adversary. "This is going to work, George," Andersen said. "This is going to save the university, restore my reputation, and make you the most powerful academic administrator in all of Europe. When we're finished, between the advertising revenue, the media rights, the publicity, we're not going to have enough space in the entire city for all the students who are going to want to enroll here, let alone enough professors to handle the number of research grants we're going to receive. I've thought of everything. _Everything._"

As Andersen exited the office, Isaacson shook his head, his lips pursed. "I hope you're right, Jan," he said softly. "And I really wish I didn't have to do this . . ."

Making sure the office door was locked, the chancellor strode to his desk. Reaching under the smooth wooden surface, he felt about for the small latch he knew was present. A soft _click _filled his ears as he felt the latch give way. A small, hidden drawer extended forth from the edge of the desk, a drawer Isaacson had hoped when he had taken the position he would never have occasion to have to open.

His eyes fell upon the small index card placed within the desk, a card so old and yellowed Isaacson feared it would crumble at his touch. Gingerly, delicately, the chancellor retrieved the card from the small compartment, laying it carefully upon his desk. Adjusting his glasses, Isaacson studied the innocuous looking item. Upon the surface of the card in neat type from a mechanical typewriter long since disappeared were printed two pieces of information: a phone number and a single, capitalized word.

Isaacson reached for his phone, bringing the receiver to his ear. When he had been hired, he had been informed, in an off-the-record conversation with the board president, that his contract contained a clause that, according to the university's statues, had been required to be included in all chancellor contracts since the conclusion of the second World War. No one knew just what the clause even meant; all that was known was that, by contract, the current chancellor was obligated to initiate a certain protocol "when the impossible becomes manifestly evident: when ice and snow come to life."

Isaacson dialed the number on the card, hoping against hope that the number was no longer in service, that he could simply hang up and proceed with Andersen's plan. He felt his stomach twist, the pain from his undiagnosed ulcer flaring up, as a voice suddenly spoke on the other end of the line, a voice that sounded annoyed, cold, irritated all at the same time. "Who is this?" the voice snapped. "How did you get this number?"

Isaacson cleared his throat. "This is Chancellor Isaacson of the University of Arendelle."

"What the hell do you want?"

Isaacson swore he could sense the sneer of contempt on the face of whomever he was speaking to. "This is a secure line, Chancellor," the voice continued. "What is an academic from Europe doing calling this number?"

Undaunted, Isaacson spoke a single word, the word printed on the faded card on his desk: "Snowfall."

The voice on the other end of the line went silent for several agonizing seconds. "Son of a bitch," the voice muttered under his breath. "Hold on, Chancellor. Give me . . . Give me a minute."

"Hold on just a minute!" Isaacson snapped. "Before you try to shuffle me off to someone else in authority, let me remind you that I am turning down the opportunity to save my university off the publicity this scenario could garner for us. So unless you can promise me your government will compensate me very, _very _generously, I'm going to hang up and—"

"Chancellor."

A different voice was speaking now, gruff, terse. "Is the situation contained?"

"How the hell should I know?" Isaacson retorted. "Who is this? What are you—"

Isaacson fell silent as the new voice began issuing a series of very specific, very direct instructions. "I see," the chancellor said. "Yes . . . Yes . . . Really? That soon? Are . . . Are you sure that is nece–"

The line suddenly fell silent. Isaacson stared at his phone for a long, long time before returning the receiver to its cradle. As he exited his office, as he made his way downstairs to meet Andersen for dinner, a single thought kept ringing in his mind: _Contract be damned! Just what the hell have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	12. Chapter 12: Flame

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Flame**

**Tuesday, March 26, 2019**

Anna blinked.

For the briefest of moments, she felt a rush of panic surge over her. The darkness surrounding her was oppressive, constricting, like a too-tight garment pressed against her skin. Relief came soon enough as her eyes darted about, her gaze settling upon the familiar dim light emanating from her laptop on the table, on the digital clock on the face of the microwave in the kitchenette. She was safe, she realized, safe in her own apartment.

_What . . . What time is it? _she thought to herself, her brow furrowing in confusion. _I must have fallen asleep for longer than I realized._

Glancing to her right, she smiled slightly as she beheld Elsa's face. The woman was sound asleep, still dressed in the same clothes she had worn the previous day. One of Elsa's hands still clung to Anna's shoulder, as if to protect the young woman while she slept. Not wanting to wake her guest and rescuer, Anna ever-so-delicately scooted to her left, removing herself from Elsa's grasp. Rising, Anna tiptoed across the apartment, yawning as quietly as she could. She reached into her pocket, withdrawing her phone. Her eyes widened as she realized it was three in the morning; she had slept for nearly twelve hours straight

A soft growl emanated from her stomach. Anna grimaced at the sensation, realizing she had missed both lunch and dinner the previous day, that her body was, now that she was awake, making its displeasure known. As quietly as she could, the young woman used the light from her phone to make her way to the cupboard by the sink. She opened it, withdrawing a box of off-brand Pop-Tarts she had found at the local grocery store. And while they didn't taste nearly as good as their American equivalents, Anna considered, they were edible, at least, and would serve their purpose of giving her at least something in her stomach to tide her over until breakfast.

As she munched on her Not-Tart, Anna shivered slightly. The temperature in the apartment felt much colder than it should for late March. "Great," she muttered under her breath, making her way to the thermostat by the bathroom door. "First the water heater goes wonky. Now the heat! I can't wait until I get paid for being Dr. Andersen's assistant so I can get a nicer—"

A cool breeze rustled through the apartment, a breeze that, Anna realized as the last vestiges of sleep dissipated from her mind, should not be present given the fact that the windows were all shut and tightly latched. Before Anna could fully process what was happening, she saw Elsa begin to toss and turn agitatedly on the bed. "Elsa?" Anna asked, hastening to the bedside. "Elsa, are you—"

The Lady's eyes were shut tight, her face twisted in what appeared to be excruciating pain. Worried, Anna reached for Elsa's shoulder. "Elsa, wake up! You're having a—"

"No!"

Anna watched, horrified, as the sleeping woman clawed at the sheets. "Oh, God, please, no!" Elsa whispered in her sleep, tears streaming from her still-shut eyes. "No, Anna, no! I didn't . . . I couldn't have . . . I . . ."

The cool wind blew faster through the apartment, a thin layer of frost forming on the walls as Elsa began to scream, and scream, and scream. Panicking, Anna shook Elsa as hard as she could. "Elsa! Elsa, please! Wake up! Elsa! _Elsa—_"

Anna shrieked involuntarily as Elsa suddenly shot upright. Her ice blue eyes were wider than Anna had ever seen them before, her breathing ragged, her shoulders heaving from the exertion. Elsa squinted at Anna in confusion, trying to make out her features in the darkness of the apartment. "Anna?" she finally whispered. "I . . . Where . . ."

The wind and frost receded into nothingness as Elsa's panic faded away. For the briefest of moments her face was filled with elation as she beheld Anna's face, the same elation that had graced her countenance when she first saw Anna in the Forest a mere three days earlier. Her elation quickly transformed into embarrassment as she realized where she was, in whose presence she was actually sitting.

"You're awake," Elsa finally said after several moments of awkward silence.

Anna nodded, expectantly. "And . . .?"

Elsa cocked her head, confused. "And . . . what?"

Anna felt her lip twitch at her guest's apparent unawareness of what had just occurred. "Elsa, you were screaming in your sleep! You conjured wind and frost, and probably would have unleashed a full-fledged blizzard in here if I hadn't woken you up. Don't you think that deserves, I don't know, an explanation, at least?"

The Lady's cheeks were red again. "Oh. I . . . I'm sorry."

She was wringing her hands again, Anna noted. Part of her told her to let it go, to pretend the whole thing never happened, to not push Elsa when she was clearly embarrassed about and mortified by the entire situation. But on the other hand, Anna considered, she didn't know if constantly walking on eggshells around her guest was something she carry on with in perpetuity, either. Slowly yet firmly, Anna took hold of Elsa's hand, forcing it into her own. "It's all right, Elsa," Anna said, her voice quiet. "You can tell me. Please. I promise . . ." She squeezed Elsa's hand as the older woman turned her head away. "I promise I won't tell anyone else. Please?"

After what seemed like hours, Elsa turned back toward Anna, her eyes downcast, refusing to meet the young woman's gaze. "I'm sorry I scared you," she finally whispered. "It's . . ." She inhaled, forcing herself to remain calm, memories—_terrible _memories—racing through her mind. "It's been a long time since I've had the nightmares. I thought they were gone forever, but . . ." Her voice trailed off and she shuddered, a shudder Anna knew couldn't possibly be an involuntary reaction from the cold still present in the room.

"What sort of nightmares?" Anna prodded, choosing her words carefully.

Elsa still refused to meet her gaze. "I told you before, when we first met in the Forest, how I hid myself away from my Anna after I almost killed her as a child," she said.

Anna nodded. "Yes, you did." A thought suddenly occurred to her. "You . . . You didn't mention this at all in the video interview. Is . . . Is this too personal? Because you don't need to tell me anything about it after all if—"

"No."

Elsa's voice quavered slightly, but it was still firm, authoritative. "I . . . You have the right to know. Just . . ." She hesitated. "Just promise me you won't hate me afterwards."

Anna stared at her, confused. "Why . . . Why would you think I would hate you?"

Elsa's cheeks were red again, as red as they could possibly be given the coldness that flowed through her veins. "After I accidentally exposed my powers at my coronation ball . . . After Anna chased after me, I . . ." She squeezed Anna's hand tightly, her other hand clutching the bedsheets in a death grip. "I tried to send her away for her own protection. To keep her safe. To get her to leave me alone before I could hurt her again. But . . ."

Elsa's eyes were moist now, Anna noted. The Lady cleared her throat, forcing herself to remain strong. "But I didn't have the control over my powers I have now. The fear . . . The self-hatred . . . It . . ." She bit her lip. "It became too much for me to contain. And I . . . I accidentally froze her heart."

_What?!_

Before Anna could speak, Elsa continued, the pace of her speech increasing by the second. "I didn't even realize I had done it!" she exclaimed. "And after I was captured, after I tried to escape Arendelle again, to keep it safe from me, I . . ." She grimaced. "Hans, Anna's fiancée, told me I had killed her. I didn't know what to think. I didn't want to believe him—_couldn't _believe him—but he had no reason to lie to me as far as I knew."

The apartment fell silent for several minutes. Anna didn't know what to say. Here was this powerful, beautiful, immortal woman before her, yet she seemed utterly terrified, like a child left alone without his mother for too long.

"I soon found out he was lying," Elsa finally continued. "But the truth . . . The truth was far worse than I ever could have imagined." She released her grip on Anna's hand, looking at her own hands, her fingers shaking. "He tried to kill me. And I didn't fight him. I _wanted _him to kill me! It would have been justice. It would have saved Arendelle from me. But instead . . ."

Her voice was barely audible. Anna leaned forward, straining with all her might to make out the Lady's words. "When I opened my eyes, I saw my Anna. She had leapt in front of his sword. But she wasn't Anna anymore! She . . . She was . . ."

Elsa lost the ability to speak. Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed, and sobbed. And somehow, even without words, Anna _knew._

"That's what I was dreaming about," Elsa finally whispered, her body still wracked with sobs. "All I remember was that I screamed, and screamed, and screamed, begging her to come back to life, to forgive me. And while she did come back to life that day, thank God, in my dreams, she . . . she never does! I see her face . . . _your _face, lifeless, like the statue of her I made in my glade in the Forest. And I scream and scream again, just like I did when it really happened, except she never comes back to life, never forgives me. She just stands there, and I can hear her voice in my mind, accusing me, yelling at me, asking me how I could have done this to her and . . ."

The Lady breathed slowly, the light from her fingertips practically radiant in the darkened apartment. "And the worst part . . ." She paused, swallowing. "The worst part is, I don't know if she ever _really _forgave me."

Before Anna could reply, Elsa rose, her hands clenched in anxiety. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You . . . You didn't want to hear this—"

"No."

Anna gently, carefully placed her hand on Elsa's shoulder, squeezing it slightly. "I . . . I'm glad you told me. I'm glad you can trust me with something so personal as . . ."

Her voice trailed off as she saw, even in the dim light, just how utterly exhausted Elsa was. The woman's eyes were heavy and bloodshot, her pale skin whiter than Anna remembered. "Elsa, you need to go back to sleep," Anna said, a worried tone in her voice. "You look exhausted!"

Elsa's eyes darted back to the bed momentarily, a look of panic briefly crossing her face. "I . . . I don't think that's a good idea—"

Anna pressed down on the Lady's shoulder, forcing her to sit on the bed. "When I was about eight or nine," she said, moving to the cabinet on the other side of the apartment, "I don't really remember exactly, but anyway, I was living in a really bad foster home. Don't get me wrong. Janice was a wonderful woman, always making sure I did my homework, that I had three meals a day, and so on. But . . ."

She set her jaw as unpleasant memories began coursing through her mind. She continued speaking as she rummaged through the cupboard. "Her husband, Stephen, was a real piece of work. Oh yeah, he could be charming and nice and a perfect gentleman when he _wanted _to be. That's how he fooled the foster system for so long, after all." Having found what she was looking for, she clutched it tightly in her hand as she turned back toward Elsa. "Unfortunately, Stephen had a drinking problem that would make your friend Kristoff look like a lightweight. After a few beers, and on a _really_ bad night a half dozen or more shots of Jack Daniel's . . ."

Elsa looked at Anna in stunned disbelief, her hands trembling once more, this time not with fear, but with rage. "Did . . . Did he ever—"

"Me?" Anna shook her head as she walked toward the bed. "No, thank God. I was lucky. Janice, on the other hand . . ." She shrugged. "I lived with them for two whole years before she finally worked up the courage to call the police. It's a good thing she did, too, considering he admitted at his sentencing he would have killed her sooner or later. He only said that, of course, _after_ the judge had accepted his plea bargain." The young woman seemed to stare at something over Elsa's shoulder, something only she could see. "I still wonder, sometimes, what would have happened if I had been braver. If I had stood up to him. If _I _had called the cops instead."

"You were a child," Elsa whispered, her hand coming to rest against Anna's cheek. "You couldn't have—"

"So were you," Anna countered, not a trace of harshness in her tone. "But you still feel guilty. So do I." She laughed joylessly. "We're a lot more alike than we realized, I guess. Both of us are broken in one way or another . . ."

The Lady was silent, her ice blue eyes falling away from Anna's gaze. The young woman turned to the night table beside the bed, busily assembling the items she had retrieved from the cupboard. "Anyway, when things were really bad with Stephen and Janice . . . when I had to try to put myself to sleep while they were screaming at each other from the other room, when he was . . ." She cleared her throat. "I found something that helped me turn my focus away from all that. Something that let me find peace amid the chaos." She turned to Elsa, her cheeks slightly red with mild embarrassment. "I thought, maybe, it could help you sleep whenever you have the nightmares."

Elsa frowned, skeptical. "What is it?"

Anna struck the match in her hand against the matchbox, bringing the flame toward the candle resting on the small table. A thin smile pulled at her lips as she lit the candle. Blowing out the match, she looked up at Elsa. "It's actually really peaceful if you just let yourself watch it, you know. After a few minutes, you sort of just drift away, like you're in your own little world where nothing can ever hurt you."

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "You were allowed to have a lit candle in your room?"

Anna sighed. "I didn't really have a 'room' at their house. It was more like the couch in the den. Janice liked those scented candles that come in jars, and she always had at least one lit in the den while she was awake. So no, I didn't go around setting houses on fire, thank you very much."

Elsa still looked unimpressed. "I . . . don't know about this . . ."

"Just try it!" Anna insisted. "I promise if it doesn't help you fall back asleep, I'll never bring it up again." Her concerned expression returned. "But you look so tired, Elsa. Please! Let me take care of you. You're not in your forest anymore. You don't have to do everything yourself." She pressed against Elsa's shoulders, gently but firmly forcing the pale woman downward until her head rested against the pillow. "See?"

Anna saw Elsa's eyes focus upon the dancing flame, the orange hue casting its soft light upon the immortal woman's features. Elsa's breathing slowed, becoming steady, rhythmic, the gentle specter of the candle and her own exhaustion slowly but steadily overwhelming her. The young woman brushed her fingertips against Elsa's wrist, humming quietly until the Lady's eyes closed, sleep overtaking her.

Smiling, Anna rose. She adjusted the blankets on the bed, covering Elsa, taking great care not to wake her. As she turned to move to the other side of the apartment, a soft voice filled the air: "Anna?"

Anna turned around. "I'm sorry, Elsa," she said. "I guess it didn't work after . . ."

Her voice trailed off as she saw Elsa's eyes still closed, her form unmoving. Frowning, Anna stepped forward tentatively, not wanting to wake the Lady if she was still sleeping.

"Anna, I'm sorry!"

Elsa was whispering in her sleep, her face twisted once more in anguish. "Forgive me!" she murmured. "I . . . I can't . . ."

"I forgive you."

The words left Anna's lips before she realized she had spoken them. _This is not a good idea, _the rational part of her mind told her. _You're not her sister. You can't speak for her._

_ But Elsa _needs _to hear this!_

At Anna's words, the pained expression on Elsa's slumbering face faded away, replaced with one of childlike hope. "Really?"

Again, the words left Anna's lips before she could even think of them. "Yes," she whispered. "You never even needed to ask me."

Eyes still closed, Elsa smiled. "Anna . . ."

Anna stood frozen for several moments as she watched Elsa slip into a state of blissful rest. Blowing out the candle, she moved toward the chair by the table. Her eyes focused on her phone as she tried her best to cast aside the strange thoughts moving through her consciousness.

_"You never even needed to ask me"? Where did _that _come from?_

The young woman rubbed her eyes as she studied her device, eager to focus her attention on something less . . . troubling. Her gaze fell upon the unread text messages Dr. Andersen had sent her the day before. She read them quickly, her eyes lingering on the last message Andersen had sent: _Miss Reinhart, we are in business._

Yawning, Anna texted a reply: _Good to hear. See you tomorrow._ Her stomach growled again, louder this time. Rising, she made her way back to the kitchenette, looking for something more substantial to eat than another packet of Not-Tarts, when the _ding _from her phone nearly caused her to jump three feet into the air. Glancing down at her phone, she saw Andersen had just texted her: _Late night, Miss Reinhart?_

_Yes, _she replied, thumbs moving rapidly across the face of her phone. _It was a long day._

Her phone _dinged _again. _And how is our guest of honor?_

Anna looked up from her phone, satisfied to see Elsa sleeping comfortably upon the bed. _Just fine._

_Excellent,_ Andersen replied. _Do your best to keep her that way. Pleasant dreams, Miss Reinhart._

Anna stood still for quite some time. For some reason, her appetite seemed to have faded away, replaced with a sense of uncertainty, foreboding. It was almost as if Andersen was checking in on her, not as a student and collaborator on this project of theirs, but rather as a mere watchdog over Elsa instead. She shook her head, chalking her thoughts up to her traumatic experience the day before and an off-kilter sleep schedule. Sinking into the chair across from the bed, she closed her eyes, eager to see what the next day would bring, yet still unable to shake the sensation in the recesses of her mind that something was not as it should be . . .

* * *

**AN: I'm doing my best to update as fast as I can, but present events in the world are making that more difficult than usual. Please be safe and, as always, more to come.**


	13. Chapter 13: Escalation

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Escalation**

**Tuesday, March 26, 2019**

"I'm sorry, but there is absolutely no way I am eating _that_!"

"Oh, come on, Elsa! Try it! It's really _good_!"

Elsa eyed the bowl of cereal cautiously, entirely unconvinced in spite of Anna's pleading. "First of all, why are you putting cow milk on it? That just seems . . . unnecessary."

Anna sighed, throwing up her hands. "You're not really going to overthink this, are you?"

"Well?" The Lady folded her arms as she regarded the student before her. "It's a valid question."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Have you ever _eaten_ dry cereal?" She cringed, the obviousness of the answer to her own question virtually staring her in the face. "Oh, wait. You haven't. Never mind."

Elsa held a piece something Anna had called "Fruity Pebbles" before her eyes, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Is it supposed to glisten like that when the light hits it?" she asked. "And why is it so sticky when I touch it? It's like . . . It's like it's coated in pure sugar—"

"That's what makes it _good_!" Anna insisted, eagerly wolfing down another spoonful from her own bowl. "Seriously," she continued, her mouth filled with Fruity Pebbles. "You don't know what you're missing."

Elsa rolled her eyes, tossing her still-braided hair over her shoulder. "If I wanted this much sugar," she said, "I would just eat it straight from the sugar bowl."

It was Anna's turn to wrinkle her own nose in disgust. "Now, _that's _gross!"

"I don't see the difference in principle," the Lady protested. She shook her head. "I'm old enough to remember when sugar was considered a valuable commodity. Now, apparently it's in _everything—_"

Her words caught in her throat as Anna quickly shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. The look of surprise and disgust on her face slowly turned to one of curiosity, then to careful contemplation as she chewed. Anna swore to herself that Elsa's eyes practically lit up as she swallowed. "Oh . . . Oh, _wow _. . ."

"See?" Anna cackled triumphantly. "What'd I tell you?"

Wordlessly, Elsa picked up the spoon from her own bowl, eagerly taking bite after bite of the food in a most unqueenly fashion. "If you tell Dr. Andersen about this . . ." she muttered between bites.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty," Anna replied, crossing her arms in mock indignation. "This is serious research I'm conducting here. I _have _to share it with my colleagues!"

"Fine," Elsa responded calmly. "Then I suppose I'll return the favor by showing him the recording I made of you sleeping yesterday afternoon."

Anna's triumphant grin slowly faded away. "I . . . Wait, what?"

"You heard me." Elsa took another bite of cereal, shrugging innocently. "I must say, it was rather . . . interesting."

Before Anna could respond, the Lady picked up Anna's phone from the table, her fingers moving effortlessly across the face of the device. "This modern technology is a lot more intuitive than I would have imagined. Even I was able to figure it out."

Anna's face paled as the screen of her phone displayed a video of her sleeping. On the video, her mouth hung wide open, a small puddle of saliva pooling beneath her chin. Loud, animal like snores emanated from her throat as she breathed. "Fair enough," she muttered under her breath. "I—"

A loud knock at the door interrupted the ladies' banter. Rising, Anna snatched her phone from Elsa's grasp, fumbling quickly as she turned off the recording. She opened the apartment door. "Dr. Andersen! What a coincidence! We . . . We were just talking about you . . ."

Andersen entered the apartment. "All good things, I assume?"

Anna glanced at Elsa. The Lady merely smiled mischievously before taking another bite of cereal. "You don't know the half of it."

"Excellent!"

Andersen made his way to the kitchenette. Reaching into the cupboard, he retrieved a mug, then proceeded place a tea bag from the counter into it before filling the mug with water from the kettle on the stove.

Anna blushed slightly, embarrassed. "I was going to _offer _you tea, sir," she said.

"Oh, pish-posh, Miss Reinhart." Andersen smiled as he nonchalantly stirred the bag with a spoon. "I know my way around a kitchen. Being a lifelong bachelor will do that to you." He glanced at the chair where Anna, he presumed, had been sitting. "I don't see a mug by you. Would you like me to—"

"No, thank you," Anna said quickly. "I . . . I've never liked tea. Ever. Can't stand the stuff, to be honest."

Andersen nodded. "To each his own." He cocked his head. "Although, I am curious as to why you happen to have some when you don't—"

"Early-morning grocery run," Anna said. She turned to Elsa. "_She _likes it."

Andersen raised an eyebrow as he studied Elsa. "Apparently, tea is not the only thing our guest of honor likes."

While Anna had been talking to Andersen, Elsa had proceeded to fill her bowl to nearly overflowing with Fruity Pebbles. Anna and Andersen watched in silence as the Lady ate spoonful after spoonful of the cereal, barely stopping to breathe between bites. Finally, Anna reached for the cereal box. "Okay, I think that's enough—"

Elsa looked up at her, her eyes wide. "No! Just one more bowl! Please! I . . . I'm still so _hungry_ and . . ." Her voice trailed off as her look of wild exuberance transformed into one of discomfort. "Oh, I . . . I suddenly don't feel well at all."

"Probably because you just ate almost an entire box of cereal in less than ten minutes!" Anna said, shaking her head like a mother scolding her child.

"But it was so good!" Elsa whispered. She brought her hands to her forehead. "Oh, my head . . ."

Anna looked at Andersen. "Fascinating," the professor murmured under his breath.

"We're not putting this in our paper," Anna said. Turning back to Elsa, she pressed the Lady's mug of tea into her hand. "Here. Drink this. I'm sorry I made you try the cereal in the first place. I didn't know it would turn you into a sugar fiend!"

"Thank you," Elsa said softly, taking a long, slow sip of tea. She rubbed her eyes. "Oh, that . . . that feels better already."

While Elsa nursed her tea, Anna looked at Andersen. "Why are you so dressed up today? What's the occasion?"

The professor smile was wider than Anna had ever seen before, the usual dour expression he bore while lecturing nowhere to be found. "I thought I'd come tell you in person," he said, adjusting his tie, smoothing out the creases in his pinstriped, three-piece suit. "I know I texted you late last night, but . . . we did it, Miss Reinhart!"

Anna looked at the professor in silence. "What . . . exactly does that mean?"

"I mean," Andersen said, pacing about the apartment excitedly, "that 'Crazy Jan Andersen' is now _the _most important man in the entire university! Oh, I wish you could have seen Isaacson at dinner last night, Miss Reinhart! I had the man practically eating out of my hands for once in my life! He knows what a gold mine we have on our hands here and—"

"Sir!"

Anna glanced over to Elsa, relief flooding over her as she saw that the Lady had fallen back asleep at the table, her sugar high crashing and burning almost as quickly as it had arrived. "Sir, I . . . I don't know what to say, but—"

"You don't need to say anything!" Andersen interjected. He gripped Anna's shoulders tightly. "It's been a wild twelve hours, let me tell you, Miss Reinhart! I'm talking interviews with the major networks both her and in America! I'm talking book deals, and—"

"What about _her_?"

Anna pointed to Elsa's sleeping form. "With all respect, Dr. Andersen, this isn't our decision. This is her life we're talking about here, and you're going on as if she's just something we can trot out for an appearance here and there and then put back on the shelf until we need her again." She shook her head. "She's not a commodity, sir. She's a _person_."

"I'm well aware of that, Miss Reinhart," Andersen said, frowning. "Which is why I am counting on you to keep her happy. She's quite fond of you. She _trusts_ you."

"Only because I remind her of her sister," Anna said softly.

_Somehow, _Andersen considered to himself, _I doubt that is the _only _reason. _"Whatever the reason," he responded, waving his hand, "I need to know that you trust _me_."

"I . . . I do," Anna said. "But this . . . This whole thing is so much more than what it was supposed to be when we started a few days ago. It was never supposed to involve somebody else."

"True," Andersen conceded. "But we are academics, you and I, Miss Reinhart." He took her hand, clutching it tightly. "Tell me: How could we just sit back and keep silent about the single most important anthropological find in human history? The Lady here . . ." He gestured toward Elsa. "The Lady in White here singlehandedly changes everything man knows about himself. How can we possibly keep quiet about this?" He held out his hands. "What do you say? Full partners?"

Anna thought for several, long minutes, carefully considering Andersen's words. At long last, she nodded. "All . . . All right. If . . . If you promise me your only motivation is academic. If you promise you won't try to make me do anything that will make Elsa uncomfortable. If you promise me that when I say enough is enough, you'll listen to me, then . . . then yes." She shook his hand.

Andersen smiled. "Thank you, Miss Reinhart." Clearing his throat, he looked at Anna, the young woman's face turning pink as she realized she was still dressed in her pajamas. "I need both of you dressed similarly to how you were dressed yesterday for the interview. We have a meeting in Isaacson's office in an hour and a half."

"Today?" Anna frowned. "But . . . But Elsa was going to show me around the main university building. I asked her to show me what it used to be like back when it was still a castle when she was queen."

"And you can still do that," Andersen insisted. "Because, conveniently enough, Isaacson's office is in our friend here's old throne room."

Anna sighed. "All right. I'll try and sober her up from her bender with Fred and Barney here." She pointed to the cereal box as Andersen stared at her in confusion. "Really? You don't know _The Flintstones_ over here, yet your country sells their cereal?"

"American popular culture has never held much appeal for me," Andersen said, sipping his tea.

"Even Kristoff likes James Bond," Anna muttered under her breath.

"Point of order. James Bond is British—"

"Whatever!" Anna moved to the other side of the room, retrieving another pair of outfits Oaken had gifted her and Elsa from the closet. "We'll meet you at the university in an hour or so."

"Actually," Andersen said, smiling devilishly. "I thought I'd chauffeur you two ladies there myself."

"Oh, no!" Anna's face turned pale once more, memories of Andersen's driving over the previous weekend racing through her mind. "No. No. No. No . . ."

* * *

_"Yes! Yes! Yes!"_

Anna sat, arms folded, on the bench seat in the back of Andersen's van as the voice emanating from the radio blared into her ears. _"It's a beautiful morning here in sunny Arendelle!" _the morning DJ crowed, the positivity in his voice so thick that Anna thought for certain sunshine and flowers would come pouring through the van's speakers at any moment. "Can you please turn that down, sir?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Reinhart," Andersen said, not bothering to turn around as he drove. "I'm afraid I can't hear you up here. You'll have to speak louder."

"Never mind," Anna muttered under her breath. She looked at Elsa seated next to her. "How are you feeling now?"

Elsa smiled at her in what Anna had now come to see was her usual, reserved manner. "Much better," she said, cheeks turning slightly pink. "I . . . I want to apologize for my behavior this morning. I honestly don't know what came over me."

"Hey, don't worry about it!" Anna said, taking hold of Elsa's hand. "I forget, I've had a lifetime to build up a tolerance to sugary foods. You haven't."

"Thank you," Elsa said softly. She clasped her hands together, clutching them before her breast. "What do you think this chancellor will say when he sees me?"

Anna smiled as she regarded the Lady next to her. Elsa was, as usual, the vision of loveliness personified. She was dressed in a violet blouse, with a maroon skirt that perfectly complemented the dark purple eye shadow Anna had applied to her that morning. Her braided hair rested over her left shoulder, small snowflakes glistening through her hair, like morning dew upon a field of grass.

"If he's got half the sense Dr. Andersen seems to think he does," Anna replied, "he'll be sure to point out what an honor it is to have the legendary Lady in White in his presence."

Elsa blushed once more. "Is . . . Is this helping you? Me coming to see the head of your university, that is?"

"Oh. Um . . . Yes. Yes, of course it is," Anna said. "You have no idea how much you're helping. How brave it is of you to leave your forest and show the outside world that you exist."

Elsa nodded. "I . . . I see. I . . ." Her voice trailed off as she looked out the window to her right.

"What?" Anna placed her hand on Elsa's shoulder. "What is it? Is it Dr. Andersen's driving? Because if it is, I'm going to take his keys from him and not let him drive us around until—"

"No." Elsa glanced back at Anna. "Nothing like that. I just . . . I just am trying to make sense of all of this, Samantha. What this all means."

Anna nodded slowly, not wanting to disrupt the Lady's train of thought, sensing Elsa was trying to express something that was not easy for her to say. "What all what means, Elsa?"

Elsa smiled sadly as she looked at Anna. She brought her hand to Anna's brow, carefully moving a stray lock of hair from the younger woman's face. "When my sister was little," she said quietly, "I used to watch her when Father and Mother were away. I remember . . ." She paused, blue and silver light pulsating from her fingertips. "I remember one night, she was so scared of a thunderstorm. She hid herself in our bedroom closet, refusing to come out. Until—"

"Until you made it snow for her," Anna blurted out without thinking. "Until you filled the room with so much snow, she couldn't wait to come out and play with—"

Her voice faded away as her conscious mind realized she was speaking without thinking. Elsa stared at her, a stunned expression on her face. "Yes," she whispered after several long moments of silence. "That . . . That's exactly what happened." The Lady's hand trembled as she reached forward, her cool touch coming to rest on Anna's cheek. Elsa leaned forward, staring deeply into Anna's eyes. "Anna?" she whispered. "Anna, I—"

"Ow!"

Anna cried out in discomfort as the van suddenly came to a screeching halt. With a happy whistle, Andersen parked the vehicle. "We're here, ladies."

"Wonderful," Anna muttered, struggling to smooth out the wrinkles that had suddenly formed in the blouse and trouser combo she was wearing. "I want to see his driver's license," she whispered to Elsa. "I _refuse _to believe he actually has one—"

Andersen opened the door, gesturing for Anna and Elsa to follow him. "Our host awaits," he said, straightening his tie once more. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"For feeling to return to my legs," Anna grimaced as she stepped out of the van. "Seriously, sir, I don't think—"

"Jan!"

Anna and Andersen turned to see Chancellor Isaacson standing on the sidewalk outside the main university building. "Over here!" the man called out, gesturing for them to join him.

"Interesting," Andersen observed. "Apparently, we're so important he leaves his office to meet us on the street himself."

"Yeah, well," Anna said as she followed Andersen, "let's not get a—"

"My Lady!"

Isaacson bowed low as Elsa emerged from the van. Embarrassed, the Lady stood motionless as the chancellor kissed her hand respectfully. Rising, Isaacson smiled broadly as he met Elsa's gaze. "Welcome home, Your Majesty. It is indeed an honor to finally meet you."

Elsa nodded. "The same, Chancellor."

"Wow," Anna whispered to Andersen. "She really _was _a queen, wasn't she—"

"George," Andersen said, clamping his hand firmly around Isaacson's shoulder. "So nice of you to meet us personally down here instead of sending Irene down to get us."

"Yes. Well." Isaacson removed Andersen's hand from around his shoulder. "When such . . . unusual circumstances as these present themselves, even chancellors can condescend to . . ."

He cleared his throat. "Anyway, it is a lovely day out, isn't it, Jan?"

Andersen nodded. "Yes, George. Yes, it is. Now, not to be impatient, but shouldn't we make our way up to your office to—"

"And this must be," Isaacson sad, cutting Andersen off, "your lovely young assistant. My dear," he said, taking hold of Anna's hand, kissing it just as he had Elsa's moments earlier. "Such a privilege to meet a fellow academic. Especially one who has distinguished herself at so young an age."

"Oh. Yes. Well."

Anna stammered slightly, her cheeks now the color of strawberries, unaccustomed to the type of attention Isaacson was lavishing upon her. "It . . . It was nothing, really, sir," she finally managed to say. "Dr. Andersen here—"

"I understand," Isaacson continued, turning back toward Elsa, "that this young woman here is the one responsible for making contact with Your Majesty."

Elsa nodded. "Yes. Yes, she is."

Isaacson clasped his hands together. "Wonderful!" He glanced at his watch, his brow furrowing momentarily. He turned his attention back to Anna. "I assure you, my dear, the university will not forget what you have accomplished here. I am sensing a fellowship in your future, Miss . . . Reinhart, is it?"

Anna staggered backward, overwhelmed. "A . . . A _fellowship_? But . . . But sir, I . . . I don't even have my undergraduate—"

"Bah!" Isaacson shook his head. "Mere formalities, Miss Reinhart. Do you know how many people I've encountered in my career with credentials a mile long who have turned out to be nothing more than dullards of the first order? Trust me, Miss Reinhart. I know how to repay those who have proven themselves worthy . . ."

"Yes," Andersen said, taking hold of Isaacson's shoulder once again. "Very nice. Glad to hear it. Now, shouldn't we be making our way up to your office, George, to . . ."

His voice trailed off as his ears registered a sound in the background, a sound that grew louder and louder with each passing moment. "What the—"

Andersen glanced upward, his eyes coming to rest upon something in the sky far, far above. His brow furrowed as he recognized the objects. "Helicopters," he muttered under his breath. "But not medical ones. Strange. Unless . . ."

A terrible thought suddenly raced through his mind. He looked at Isaacson. "George?"

Andersen's stomach turned as the expression on Isaacson's face confirmed his suspicion. "What did you do, you bastard?" he whispered, his hands clenched in fury. "What the hell did you _do_?"

Isaacson shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jan," he said. "I really, really am. But this is bigger than both of us. You have to understand that—"

"Goddamn you!" Andersen snarled. He grabbed hold of Isaacson's jacket collar, slamming against the building nearby. "This was going to get us everything we ever wanted! Save the university! Why the hell would you throw that all away?!"

"It wasn't my call!" Isaacson whispered. "I didn't have a choice—"

The sound was louder now, practically roaring in their ears. Elsa covered her ears, looking about, her eyes wide with terror at the unfamiliar sound. "What . . . What is this?!" she whispered, frost forming near her feet. "What's going on?!"

At the sight of frost emanating from the Lady's feet, Isaacson's eyes grew wide. "My God!" he whispered. "I . . . I . . ."

"What the hell did you _think _this was?!" Andersen was livid now, his face contorted with rage. "Did you think we were just playing around—"

Anna was holding Elsa tightly, doing her best to calm the distressed woman as the sound of the helicopters grew louder and louder. She looked up, her eyes fixated upon the helicopters that were now practically on top of them. _Those . . . Those are _military _helicopters!_

"Dr. Andersen!" Anna yelled, barely able to hear her own voice. "What's happening?!"

Andersen released his hold on Isaacson, allowing the chancellor to slump to the ground. He turned to face Anna and Elsa, his face drawn, filled with worry. "Run, Miss Reinhart!" he said. "Run! _Now!_"

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	14. Chapter 14: Chase

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Chase**

**Tuesday, March 26, 2019**

"Shit!"

Andersen sprinted to the van, his keys already in his hand. "Come on! Come on!" he ordered Anna and Elsa, gesturing wildly for them to join him. Anna grabbed hold of Elsa's wrist, pulling her into the back of the van along with her.

"What is it?!" Anna cried as Andersen tried furiously to start the vehicle. "What's happening?!"

"Not now, Miss Reinhart!" Andersen snapped. He turned the key in the ignition, holding his breath as the aged engine sputtered and wheezed. "Oh, come _on_—"

With a roar, the engine came to life. Andersen laughed triumphantly, putting the van into gear. "Just hang tight for a few moments," he said, driving down the busy street, hoping to draw as little attention to their vehicle as possible. "If we're lucky, we can slip out of the city and make for the country outside the 'Delle before—"

"Before _what_?!"

Anna pulled herself into the passenger seat, her eyes flashing with anger. "What is going on? What are you not telling us?"

"Isaacson!" Andersen spat, his face red with anger. "The son of a bitch sold us out! Damn him, I didn't think that clause in his contract was actually _real_!"

Anna glanced over her shoulder at Elsa. The Lady's eyes were closed, her lips moving soundlessly as she tried to calm herself. "What clause? Can you please start making sense . . . _partner_?"

Andersen sighed, his eyes darting from the road to the sky above repeatedly. "It's been a rumor at the university for decades now that the chancellor's contract contains a clause requiring him to inform the powers that be when certain . . . circumstances arise." He glanced at Elsa in his rearview mirror. "Apparently, _this _qualifies as one of those circumstances."

Anna's jaw dropped momentarily. "Wait. Wait. Wait a minute. You . . . You think he called the military on us?"

"Not just any military," Andersen replied. The van came to a stop as they approached a red light. The professor ran a hand across his beard, his brow furrowed with concern. "Arendelle doesn't have anything close to choppers like that in her arsenal. But . . ." He paused, turning to Anna. "But the _Americans_ do—"

"Dr. Andersen."

Andersen and Anna turned around to see Elsa looking out the van's rear window. Her voice betrayed her evident concern. "I think we are being followed."

Anna squinted as she climbed out of the passenger seat onto the bench seat next to Elsa. The Lady was correct; a large, black SUV was barreling toward the van at ramming speed. "He's not slowing down!" Anna cried, turning back toward Andersen. "He's going to—"

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Andersen floored the gas pedal, simultaneously yanking the wheel as far to the left as he could. Horns blared from nearby cars as the van sprang into the intersection. The squeals of brakes from numerous vehicles filled the air as they came to a sudden stop to avoid colliding with the renegade vehicle.

"Yes!" Anna exclaimed as she saw the SUV spin around as it entered the intersection, its route to the van cut off by numerous vehicles blocking its path. She turned around, her excitement quickly turning to sheer terror. "Um . . . I think this is a one-way street. And we're going the wrong—"

"I know!" Andersen yelled, his hands clutching the wheel for dear life.

Sheer pandemonium filled their view as the van barreled down the street against the flow of traffic. A cacophony of horn blares and screeching tires assaulted their ears as vehicle after vehicle swerved rapidly to avoid colliding with the van. The sound of disintegrating glass joined the chaos as numerous shops and businesses were suddenly intruded upon by cars smashing through their front windows.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Andersen muttered, cursing under his breath.

"Please!" Anna whispered, her fingers digging into the fabric of the bench seat. "Turn us around!"

"I'm trying!" Andersen snapped. "Hold on!"

Anna screamed, grabbing hold of Elsa's waist for support as Andersen suddenly pulled the van to the right. The right-side tires were now on the sidewalk, while the left-side tires remained on the road. The windshield was filled with splinters and fragments of shattered wood, produce, and other paraphernalia from countless curbside stands as the van plowed through them at breakneck speed. Passersby dove for cover, screaming, until, after what felt to Anna an eternity, Andersen spun the wheel hard left. The van completed three full rotations, tires squealing all the while, before finally coming to rest just before another intersection.

"Everyone . . . Everyone all right back there?" Andersen called over his shoulder. He stuck his hand out the window, gesturing for the line of vehicles behind him to change lanes and pass, the sound of horns and angry yells growing louder with each passing moment.

Anna glared at Andersen, her hands shaking. "Oh, yes! We're just _fine_, thank you very much! Aren't we, Elsa? Can we please do that again, but _faster_ this time—"

"Your sarcasm isn't helping our current predicament, Miss Reinhart."

"Neither is your driving!"

"My apologies," Andersen snapped impatiently. "Perhaps the curriculum is different in American driving schools, but here in Arendelle, we don't exactly have a course entitled Action Film Driving 101—"

"Samantha."

Anna turned toward Elsa. The Lady's lips were drawn tight, her expression filled with concern. "I think . . . I think they've found us again."

Anna felt her heart sink into her stomach as somehow, impossibly, the black SUV entered her field of vision. "I don't suppose they're here to just say 'Hi,' are they?"  
Andersen set his jaw tightly. "Somehow, I doubt that very, very much." He reached for the ignition, turning the key to try to restart the stalled engine. "Come on, come on, darling. You can do it! Come on . . ."

While the van's engine sputtered and moaned, Elsa looked at Anna, her eyes filled with terror, the sound of the helicopters above growing louder and louder. "They're here for me, aren't they?"

Anna opened her mouth to respond, to come up with some sort of believable lie that would reassure the Lady, but her words were cut off by the steady stream of curses spewing from Andersen's lips. "Come on, dammit! Not now! Not now! Just one more! One more, you bitch of a—"

The professor pounded his fist against the dashboard in frustration. The engine suddenly roared, finally turning over. Andersen rubbed the steering wheel, lovingly. "That's it, baby. I didn't mean it! I didn't mean—"

"Sir!" Anna yelled. "Get us out of here!"

Andersen put the van in gear, flooring the gas once more. The tires screeched as the van leapt forward into the intersection, accelerating quickly down the streets of the 'Delle once more.

"Faster!" Anna shouted, her eyes fixated on the rear window of the van. "They're getting closer! _Faster!_"

"This is as fast as she goes, Miss Reinhart!" Andersen responded. His eyes moved to the driver's side mirror, his blood nearly turning to ice as he realized what he was seeing. "Down!" he ordered as the van raced along, weaving in and out of traffic. "Get down—"

The mirror outside the driver's door shattered as a loud series of _bangs _filled the air. Anna screamed, covering her ears as the van's rear window exploded, small fragments of glass filling the rear of the vehicle. "They're . . . They're shooting at us!"

"No, is _that _what they're doing?!" Andersen hissed, yanking the wheel hard right at the next intersection, barely avoiding a collision with a delivery truck. "Never would have guessed that!"

"I thought you said sarcasm wasn't helpful!" Anna retorted.

"I lied!"

The SUV's driver was not fooled this time. Instead of overshooting the intersection, he had anticipated Andersen's maneuver. Expertly, he guided the vehicle through the turn, the SUV an obsidian nightmare that was rapidly gaining ground on the beat-up, well-beyond-its-mileage van.

"We're going in circles!" Anna protested as the van made its way back toward the university once more.

"I am well aware of that, thank you very much," Andersen muttered. "I'm trying to lose him, but—" He weaved in and out of traffic, changing lanes as quickly as he could, countless drivers blaring their horns and extending their middle fingers out their window toward him as he cut them off. "But I'm afraid our options are limited given the woefully antiquated nature of the city's street system. The only way out of the city is—"

The SUV had managed to pull alongside the van. Before Andersen could react, the vehicle smashed itself against the driver's side of the van, forcing it against the buildings lining the street. Orange sparks danced about the van's interior, the terrible, high-pitched sound of metal being sheered away filling the air. Both passenger-side doors succumbed to their injuries, detaching themselves from the van, cluttering uselessly away down the street.

With a cry of pure desperation, Andersen depressed the brake pedal with all his might. The van came to a screeching halt, tires nearly rupturing from the sudden change in air pressure, Anna crying out in surprise as she clung tightly to the seat in order to avoid being hurled headlong into the windshield.

The SUV was not as fortunate; no longer facing any resistance from the van, it launched itself in the opposite direction, smashing headlong into a fire hydrant before stalling out. Water spewed high into the air, showering the street, soaking the now-livid pedestrians who made no secret of their displeasure as they angrily rushed the vehicle responsible for their discomfort.

"You did it!" Anna exclaimed, climbing into the passenger's seat, taking care not to fall out of the now non-existent doorway. "I take back everything I ever said about your driving! That . . . That was _amazing_!"

Andersen breathed slowly, dabbing the sweat from his brow with the handkerchief in his jacket pocket. "I appreciate the compliment, Miss Reinhart," he said. "Although I probably shouldn't start sending my CV to your Hollywood studios looking for work as a stunt driver."

Anna laughed. "I don't know. I'd give you a good reference, I promise!"

Andersen smiled. "Not that this is an experience I'd like to repeat again, but . . ." He gestured to his right. "This is the only route out of the 'Delle toward the country beyond. If we're going to hide from them, we need to . . ." His words faded away, an expression of disbelief on his face.

"What?" Anna turned to follow his gaze, relief quickly turning to fear and frustration. "Oh, _come on_!"

Two more black SUVs came toward them, cutting off their access to the country roads beyond. Faster and faster they moved, the distance between the van and the intruding vehicles shrinking rapidly by the second.

The van lurched into motion once again. "Where are they coming from?" Anna asked. "How are they finding us so quickly?"

"Eyes in the sky, Miss Reinhart," Andersen muttered, glancing upward, the roar of the helicopters now louder than ever. "That, coupled with the fact that the Americans just so happen to have a base not far from here, means that unless we come up with an alternative plan, it won't be just SUVs we're running from soon, but full-fledged military vehicles!" He grimaced as he turned down the main drag once more. "And here we go again . . ."

Anna's eyes moved to the dashboard. "We can't do this all day," she said. "Sooner or later, we're going to run out of gas—if we don't crash first!"

"I'm well aware of our petrol situation, thank you very much, Miss Reinhart," Andersen replied. His eyes turned toward the fjord not far from the city. "But unless you think our vehicle here can float, I'm afraid—"

"Water!"

Anna turned around at the sound of Elsa's voice, realizing that, in all the excitement of the past few minutes, she had nearly forgotten the Lady was with them. "What? What did you say?"

"The water!" Elsa leaned between Andersen and Anna, her ice blue eyes narrow as she thought. "Drive toward the water!"

"My dear," Andersen said, rapidly swerving to avoid colliding with a slow-moving car, "I don't know what Miss Reinhart has told you about our vehicle, but I'm afraid internal combustion engines and water don't exactly—"

"Do what she says!" Anna's eyes had lit up with understanding. "Take us to the fjord, Dr. Andersen. It's our only chance!"

Andersen's eye twitched as he looked at the two women. "Have the two of you lost your minds? I don't know what you're . . ." His voice trailed off as he saw Elsa's fingertips begin to shimmer with blue light. "Oh, no. No. No. No."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Anna said. "And no, I haven't 'lost my mind.' I'm a 'promising young academic,' remember?"

"You're making me seriously reconsider my prior assessment of your intellectual acumen." Andersen glared at the Lady. "And with all respect, my Lady, I can't believe _you _thought of this—"

"Just do it!" Anna shouted. "Elsa knows what she's doing!"

"Miss Reinhart, I don't care _whose _idea this is! There is absolutely no way in hell I'm about to—"

The air filled with the sound of gunfire. This time, Andersen noticed, the source was not only the SUVs still engaged in hot pursuit of their van, but also from far above. The professor quickly pulled his head through the driver's window, his face paling as he saw a helicopter almost directly above them, a large, manned weapon pointed directly at their vehicle.

"On second thought," Andersen said, turning the wheel hard to the left, in the direction of the pier resting astride the fjord. "On second thought, I hear the waters of the fjord are simply marvelous this time of day . . ."

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	15. Chapter 15: Happening

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Happening**

**Tuesday, March 26, 2019**

"I assume you've done this sort of thing before."

Andersen glanced at Elsa, his eyes narrow. "Please say 'yes.'"

The Lady shook her head. "Not exactly." She shrugged. "Not on purpose, anyway."

"Fantastic!" Andersen shook his head. He flinched as another round of gunfire erupted from above. The van's roof _pinged _with the sound of bullets embedding themselves into its metal. "That's not going to hold much longer, by the way."

"We're almost there," Anna said, pointing to the pier looming up ahead. "Try to think positive!"

"All right. I'm _positive _that's not going to hold much longer—"

The road before them suddenly erupted in flame and exploding pavement, courtesy of a rocket launcher blast from the chopper above. Andersen heard Anna screaming in his ears as he frantically twisted the wheel, narrowly avoiding the mammoth pothole before them.

"Your military isn't all that subtle, are they, Miss Reinhart?" Andersen noted blithely. "Apparently, they've decided Elsa is important enough to abandon any pretense of caution and plausible deniability." He glanced toward the passenger's seat. "What is it you Americans say? 'Shoot first, ask questions later'?"

Anna's face was white. "They're turning this into a war zone! How . . . How are they going to just explain this away to these people—"

"What? You aren't having fun yet on a nice Tuesday morning drive?" Andersen laughed bitterly. "This is Arendelle, Miss Reinhart. We're known for looking the other way on many, many things—if properly compensated." He grunted as the van bucked and shuddered as it transitioned from driving on smooth pavement to the rough cobblestones of the path leading to the pier. "Ever hear of the _Reliant _disaster of '95?"

"No," Anna admitted.

"Of course not. I'd love to tell you how an American test flight just so happened to go so horribly awry that it crashed right smack dab in the middle of the fjord here, but it never happened. At least, that's the official story since every single citizen alive at the time just so happened to receive a _very _generous 'tax refund' courtesy of your government in exchange for never speaking about it again."

Anna ducked as the van collided with an empty table from an outdoor café, the wood splintering, flying every which way. As the vehicle continued its flight down the narrow street, she could hear the proprietor's furious yells, yells that were soon drowned out by a fresh barrage of gunfire from the helicopter above. Turning around, she grimaced at the sight of two of the black SUVs still hot on their tail. "They're gaining on us!"

Andersen sighed. "I'm doing the best I can here, Miss Reinhart. Believe me, this is _not _what I planned on doing when I woke up this morning—"

"Samantha." Elsa spoke, her voice calm, her gaze turned upward toward the van's sunroof. "How do you open this?"

"What?!" Andersen turned around, staring at the Lady as if she had just sprouted a second head. "I don't know if you've been paying attention, but they're kind of _shooting at us from above_! Do you really think opening the sunroof is a good idea under the circumstances—"

"Truck!" Anna screamed.

A string of expletives spewed from Andersen's lips. A large delivery truck pulled out in front of them from the alleyway, seemingly oblivious to the van's presence. The professor turned the wheel hard to the left. A blare of horns accompanied by shrieks of terror from pedestrians echoed about as the van ramped partway onto the sidewalk, providing just enough clearance for the van to avoid what had seemed to be an inevitable collision with the truck.

One of the SUVs pursuing them were not as fortunate. The terrible sound of metal colliding with metal, crumpling on impact, filled the air, along with the truck's contents—a veritable cornucopia of assorted produce. Fruit and vegetables rained down upon the street as the truck's driver, realizing he was, in fact, miraculously still among the living, leapt from his vehicle, screaming in rage at the driver of the now permanently incapacitated SUV.

"That's two down," Anna noted, glancing over her shoulder. Her elation dissipated. "And one to go."

"Damn, he's persistent," Andersen muttered. What few fragments of glass remained in the driver's side mirror revealed that one of the SUVs had somehow managed to avoid colliding with the truck and was still pursuing the van. A series of loud _pop_s and _ping_s filled the trio's ears. "And now they're shooting at the tires."

The professor gestured to Anna over his shoulder. "I don't know about you ladies, but I'm tired of being chased. Miss Reinhart, open the sunroof. Whatever the two of you have planned, you'd better get ready. Because . . ."

The van lurched to the left, vaulting the curb. Andersen glanced down at the speedometer. "Based upon our current speed, we'll be at the pier in about . . . Oh, hell!"

Andersen began pounding the steering wheel, the van's tired horn sputtering as the vehicle careened down the entryway toward the pier. Fishermen on their way to and from their boats leaped out of the way, scrambling for cover. Andersen grimaced as one of the fishermen hurled a large fish toward the van, the dead animal bouncing off the windshield. Involuntarily, the professor swerved to the side. A loud grinding noise emanated briefly from beneath the van as it ran over a pile of loose planking at the pier's entrance. "Get ready, Elsa!"

Anna grimaced as the van began to buck and shudder as the tires began making contact not with pavement or cobblestone, but with the rough, uneven wood of the pier. "Here," she said, taking hold of Elsa's hand. "Let me help you up."

Elsa nodded, her eyes shut in concentration as Anna helped lift her until her head and torso protruded through the sunroof. Her lips moved silently as silver and blue light began to swirl and coalesce from her fingertips. _I am winter. I am frost. I am snow. I am _ice _. . ._

"Hurry up, please," Andersen said, the distance between the van's present location and the end of the pier shrinking rapidly. In his rearview mirror, Andersen could see the SUV still pursuing them, looking rather the worse for the wear but still as fast as ever.

"Elsa," Anna whispered, her heart pounding as the van moved closer and closer to the edge of the pier. She squeezed Elsa's legs tightly. "Elsa, hurry!"

"Anytime now, Miss Reinhart!" Andersen called over his shoulder. The van was less than fifteen yards from the edge of the pier. Ten. Five—

Anna shut her eyes as the van launched off the edge of the pier. "Elsa, _now_!"

Andersen covered his eyes as the world around him was suddenly replaced by an explosion of blue and silver. Something shimmering erupted in the sky above, forming an intricate snowflake pattern. The van jolted as, rather than sinking into the waters of the fjord, its tires collided with a newly formed sheet of ice.

"Don't stop!"

Anna opened her eyes at the sound of Elsa's voice. The young woman looked up through the sunroof. Elsa's brow was furrowed, her face locked in concentration as she held her hands before her. A steady stream of light shot forth from her hands onto the waters before them, the waters turning to ice at the light's touch. Anna gasped in understanding as she crawled forward into the passenger's seat. "Keep driving!" she exclaimed.

Andersen's face was an ashen color, perspiration pouring down his brow. "You don't have to tell me twice," he muttered, the rational part of his mind trying to reconcile that was he was witnessing was, in fact, impossible under all known laws of science and reason, and yet it was _real_.

"She's making a road for us," Anna observed. "Follow it!"

"As if we have any choice," Andersen muttered. He gripped the wheel tighter. "Hang on. Let's see if we can—"

The sound of gunshots echoed off the icy road. "Seriously?!" Anna exclaimed. "What do we have to do to get rid of these guys?!"

The SUV had followed the van onto the icy waters of the fjord. The man in the passenger's side of the obsidian vehicle leaned out the window, a pistol in each hand. With skilled precision, he took aim at the van, firing several rounds in quick succession.

Andersen grimaced at the sound of the bullets lodging themselves in the metal of the van. "Damn, that was close!" he muttered, flooring the accelerator.

Anna glanced over her shoulder. Through the sunroof, she could see that Elsa was too focused on summoning enough ice to ensure the van had a path to follow to deal with their assailants. As she turned her eyes back to the path ahead, she screamed.

The SUV had managed to pull alongside the sheared-off doorways of the van's passenger side. Before Anna could react, the SUV smashed into the van. The two vehicles fought one another for mastery, Andersen doing his best to force the SUV off the icy road into the waters of the fjord, while the SUV's driver did likewise.

"Get off me, you son of a bitch!" Andersen cursed, fighting with all his might to maintain control of the van. "Goddammit, I said get off!"

Anna sank down in her seat helplessly, clinging tightly to the fabric in a desperate attempt to keep from being launched out the doorway. She was certain her heart skipped as beat as she saw a the barrel of a large gun protrude from the window of the SUV, pointed directly at her. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable.

Nothing happened. Opening her eyes, Anna gasped as she saw the SUV suddenly break off its assault on the van. Something large, shimmering, blue erupted from the water, smashing headlong into the SUV. The black nightmare spun around several times until finally coming to rest upon the frozen road. Anna's jaw dropped as she saw what appeared to be a large horse composed entirely of ice pawing at the vehicle, snorting furiously.

As the van sped away, Anna gasped as the SUV was suddenly lifted high in the air, swirling about faster and faster as a cyclone enveloped it. The swirling winds captured the pursuing helicopter in its grasp, the chopper's engine whining in protest as the whirlwind dragged both it and the SUV toward the stretch of land far off in the horizon.

The ice road came to an end at the point where land met water, just on the outskirts of the village. Gingerly, Andersen guided the battered van up the icy ramp Elsa had generated, finally stopping when all four tires had come to rest upon the cobblestones of the ancient road. As Anna and Andersen watched, their eyes filled with exhaustion, the road of ice on the fjord disappeared into nothingness.

"Samantha . . ."

Anna responded, gently helping Elsa climb back down from the sunroof into the van, laying the Lady to rest on the bench seat. Her pale skin looked whiter than Anna remembered. "Elsa! Are . . . are you all right?"

The Lady smiled, breathing slowly, deliberately. "I'll be fine," she said. "I'm just . . ." She closed her eyes. "That took a lot more out of me than I thought it would."

Anna brushed a long strand of hair from Elsa's face. "You . . . You were amazing! I've never . . . I mean . . ." She laughed. "I've seen you use your powers before, but for you to create an ice road in the middle of the fjord was just . . ." She paused, thinking. "Was that . . . Was that Gale? And . . . Nokk?"

Elsa nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry it took so long for me to help, but I needed to be close enough to the fjord that when I signaled them with my snowflake in the sky, they would see it."

Anna nodded. Her brow furrowed as a thought crossed her mind. "What's going to happen to them? I mean, the people chasing us that Gale took away? Are . . . Are they going to—"

Elsa shook her head. "No. I swore I would never hurt anyone, remember?" She breathed deeply, her energy returning slowly but surely. "If I know Gale, they've been dropped far enough away that they won't be bothering us for quite some time. Not so far away that they can't get help, but . . ." She shrugged. "Perhaps they'll learn what happens when someone tries to harm those the Lady in White cares for."

Anna smiled, her cheeks turning red at the compliment. "I . . . I—"

A soft whinny sounded in her ear. The young woman turned toward the open hole where the side passenger door had once been. Standing before the van, glistening in the sunlight, was the water horse—Nokk—that had saved them from the SUV. The creature's gaze fixated on Elsa, another whinny emanating from its throat. It pawed at the ground, shaking its icy mane.

Elsa rose, exiting the van. Gently, she caressed the beast's head. "It's okay," she murmured softly. "I'm fine. We're all fine. Thank you."

"Dear God in heaven!"

Andersen had exited the van, his bearded jaw agape. His hands shook as he glanced at Elsa. "This . . . This is incredible! The legendary Nokk here, right before my very eyes!" He rubbed his eyes, blinking. "Tell me you're seeing this as well, Miss Reinhart," he whispered.

The young woman nodded. "Oh, I'm seeing this all right, sir."

Elsa looked at Anna and Andersen, a broad smile forming on her lips. "It's okay," she said, patting the water horse on the head. "You can touch him." She scratched the creature's head between the ears. "He won't hurt you."

Anna swore she saw Andersen's eyes glisten with moisture as the professor slowly, carefully brought his hand toward the Nokk's brow. As his fingers brushed against the water spirit's frozen form, Andersen laughed the laugh not of a cynical old man, but of a boy discovering something magical and wonderful for the first time. "Good boy," the professor murmured as he caressed the horse. "Oh, I have dreamed of this for so long . . ."

Anna, for her part, brought her hand next to Elsa's, scratching the beast's mane. She marveled at the coolness of the frozen spirit's touch, yet the cold did not harm her, was not painful in the slightest. "This is amazing!" she exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like this!"

After several long minutes, Andersen finally pulled his hand away. "Well, now," he said, once again the formal professor. "This . . . This was enlightening." He turned to Elsa. "Thank you, my dear. But, ah, may I suggest we take advantage of our escape and get out of the city before they start chasing us again?"

Elsa nodded. "Yes. That . . . That would be wise." The Lady whispered in the Nokk's ear. With a whinny, the spirit became liquid once more, disappearing into the waters of the fjord.

The trio climbed back into the still-running van. With a lurch, the vehicle started forward, Andersen guiding it down the side streets and alleys of Arendelle.

"Can we go any faster, sir?" Anna asked, eyes darting about nervously. "Considering what the van looks like now, we're not exactly inconspicuous."

"Relax, Miss Reinhart," Andersen said. "Like I told you earlier, here in the 'Delle, we are quite accustomed to looking the other way." He depressed the accelerator, speeding up the van. "Ah, here we are."

Andersen turned the van back into the main road leading out of the city, accelerating as the road opened up into a long stretch of pavement, rather than the tight series of interlocking streets of the village. The three held their breath, glancing about, looking for any sign of the military.

"I think," Andersen said, speeding the van up to its top speed. "I think we may have—"

"Oh, no!"

Anna's heart sank as, not two miles ahead, a large blockade had formed. Large military-grade trucks and Jeeps stood at the ready, armed soldiers conducting an inspection of each vehicle attempting to exit or enter the city.

"I don't suppose," Andersen muttered, "they'll just take our word for it that we're not the van they're looking for, will they?"

Anna glanced over her shoulder. "We're still far enough away that they won't have spotted us yet." She looked at Elsa. "Okay. New plan. We double back to the fjord and you make a new ice road. We take that until we hit somewhere we can ditch the van and hide out until this all blows over." She turned back to Andersen. "Why are you still speeding up, sir?"

"Ah, yes," the professor said, his brow furrowing. "I seem to be having difficulty slowing down." He depressed the brake pedal, meeting no resistance whatsoever. "See?"  
"Samantha."

Elsa's worried voice filled Anna's ears. The young woman turned to see the Lady looking out the opening that had once been the van's rear window. "I don't know much about motor vehicles, but am I correct in saying they're not supposed to be leaking fluid?"

Anna's stomach churned as she saw that Elsa was right. A large quantity of sticky liquid darkened the road behind them. "That would be the brake fluid, wouldn't it?"

Andersen cursed. "We must have damaged the line somewhere back in our little excursion in the town."

"Turn us around!" Anna said, the blockade growing closer with each passing moment.

Before Andersen could comply, a loud _bang _filled the air. "Shit!" Andersen hissed as the van suddenly began to swerve. "They must have hit one of the tires after all!"

Elsa's eyes widened, the blockade now very, very close indeed. "Samantha!" she murmured, wrapping her arms tightly around Anna's waist.

"Do something!" Anna screamed at the professor.

"I'm trying!" Andersen snapped. "I can't slow down! I can't steer! We're going to—"

_"Anna!"_

Anna felt something push her out the gaping hole where the door had once been. Her screams were silenced as she collided with the grass, the wind escaping from her lungs. She rolled down the embankment, coming to rest just as a terrifying roar filled the air. From the bottom of the hill, she could see orange flame rise into the sky, along with plume upon plume of thick, black smoke.

_No!_

Ignoring the pain in every part of her body, Anna dragged herself up the hill. The scene was pure pandemonium. Cars had nearly careened off the road in an effort to avoid colliding with the conflagration before them. The sound of what seemed like hundreds of honking horns assaulted Anna's ears. Dazed, she watched as the charred remains of the van smoldered and burned. Dozens of soldiers, guns at the ready, surrounded the van.

To Anna's astonishment, something from within the van _moved_. Even from some fifty feet away, Anna could see something surrounded in blue and silver light stumble from the wreckage.

"Elsa!" Anna whispered, hardly believing what she was witnessing.

Somehow, someway, the Lady had emerged from the carnage. She was surrounded by an aura of light, the flames lapping around her unable to penetrate the protective barrier of chill she had cast around herself. Anna heard Elsa cry out in pain as she pulled something behind her, also protected within her barrier. Anna gasped as she realized it was Andersen.

The soldiers raised their weapons, uncertain of how to respond. The air became silent, still, save for a series of groans that came from Andersen's throat.

The blue and silver light vanished as Elsa fell to her knees. Anna watched, terrified, as the Lady looked up at the soldiers, the exhaustion she felt evident even from Anna's distant vantage point.

"Please . . ."

A chill ran up Anna's spine as she heard Elsa's quiet begging. "Please, just . . . Just leave us—"

A sharp _hiss _filled the air, the sound of compressed air escaping its confinement. Anna watched in confusion, not comprehending, as Elsa glanced down at her breast. Confusion turned to horror as Anna realized a small dart was now protruding from Elsa's pale skin. "No!" she whispered, trying to will her legs to carry her to the Lady's side, but she couldn't move, so tired was she.

She saw Elsa try to rise, only for a second dart to strike her. The Lady's eyes closed as she collapsed to the ground, still, unmoving.

The soldiers surrounded Elsa's unconscious form, the air suddenly filled with the sound of men barking orders, of subordinates hastening to carry them out. Anna saw one of the soldiers drag Andersen to his feet, forcing the stumbling professor into one of the Jeeps before driving away.

_This can't be happening! This can't be happening!_

As several of the soldiers began to perform crowd control duty, screaming into bullhorns for onlookers to disperse, to turn their vehicles around, Anna caught a glimpse of Elsa being strapped to a medical stretcher and loaded into an ambulance. With a wail, the ambulance departed in the same direction as the Jeep carrying Andersen.

In some part of her mind, Anna knew she had allowed herself to slide back down the hill, to allow the tall grass to surround her and prevent anyone from seeing her. All she could hear, however, was her own voice repeating the same words over and over again, the bitter taste of warm salt water coating her tongue.

"This can't be happening!" she whispered, burying her head in her hands. "This can't be happening . . ."

* * *

**AN: I apologize for how long it has taken me to update. The past two months have left less time to write than I had hoped. I appreciate your patience, and will do my best to update in a more timely manner. More to come!**


	16. Chapter 16: Listeners

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Listeners**

**Tuesday, March 26, 2019**

"King me, Sven."

Kristoff took a sip from his beer as he eagerly placed a black checker piece atop one just like it. He eyed his opponent, a gleam of triumph in his eye. "Got you on the run, now, don't I?"

His nemesis sat across the table from him, black, beady eyes staring directly into his own. "What's the matter?" Kristoff asked. "Cat got your tongue?"

Wordlessly, Kristoff reached across the board, taking hold of a red piece. The piece jumped one, two, three, four black pieces in rapid succession until finally coming to rest at the end of the board. The woodsman stared at the board, speechless for several long moments. Finally, begrudgingly, he placed another red piece atop the one he had just moved on behalf of his opponent. "Not again," he muttered under his breath. "You know, I'm really getting tired of losing to a stuffed animal. No offense."

The stuffed animal shaped like a reindeer regarded him silently. Kristoff sighed as he polished off the remains of his beer. "Don't . . . Don't look at me like that, Sven. No one likes a sore winner."

The reindeer sat motionless. "I'm sorry," Kristoff said, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "You won fair and square." He cocked his head. "What do you say to best three out of five? Double or nothing?"

The stuffed animal sat unmoving. Kristoff nodded. "It's a deal. And _this _time, I'm not going to be so nice. I'm going to kick your ass so hard that . . ."

He frowned as he peered down the neck of his beer bottle. "Wouldn't you know? Empty already." He tossed the beer bottle casually over his shoulder. "First, though, I'm going to need another beer." Kristoff studied the stuffed reindeer's face. "You want one? I'm buying."

The toy's beady eyes stared back at Kristoff. "Oh, really?" the man of the Forest said in mock surprise. "You want me to have an extra one on your behalf? Oh, Sven, how generous of you!"

Rising from the table, Kristoff grabbed his flashlight and made his way toward the stairs leading to the basement. "And this is why I always say reindeers are better than—"

He froze as he reached the basement. "Hmm. I thought she fixed this before she left."

Kristoff moved the light emanating from the flashlight around the cellar. The cold chill that had filled the cellar since he had first asked Elsa to create the magically-produced atmosphere had disappeared. Already, Kristoff could see moisture forming on the bottles within the cases of beer lining the walls. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. "What in the world is going on with her that this would . . .?"

He grabbed two bottles from the nearest case before stomping back up the stairs, his good mood now sullied. "Sorry, Sven," he called out to the stuffed animal as he popped the cap off one of the bottles, downing a third of its contents in one, long swig. "Looks like I'm gonna have to kick your ass another time. Elsa's magic has gone wonky again."

He retrieved his phone from the table, his thumb scrolling through his call history as he searched for the desired number. "Hey, don't look at me!" he protested as the stuffed reindeer continued to regard him blankly. "I _told _her not to go, remember?" He pressed his thumb to the screen, the phone beginning to dial the number on his command.

To his mild surprise, the line went straight to voicemail. _This is Jan Andersen, _the professor's voice emanated from the phone. _Leave a message at the tone. Thank you._

A loud _beep _filled Kristoff's ears. "Hey, Pops, it's me, Kristoff Bjorgman. I'm sure everything's going just peachy and all with you and AH-na's little project. I just wanted to see if I could talk to Elsa for a few minutes when you have a chance. You have my number, so just give me a call when you get this. Thanks, Pops."

Kristoff put his phone in his pocket, silently nursing his beer, deep in thought. "It's probably nothing, right, Sven? I'm getting worked up over nothing, right?"

The toy sat, unblinking. Kristoff sighed. "You're not making me feel better, you know that—"

A series of knocks sounded at the door. Kristoff started, surprised. "What the hell?" He looked at the stuffed animal. "Not a sound," he whispered. "Maybe they'll just go away if we—"

The knocks sounded again, more urgently this time. "Seriously, who knows I'm here?" He smacked his forehead. "It's probably someone from the fund management company again. God, I hate paperwork!"

The woodsman walked to the door. "All right, all right. I'm coming," he called out. "But I'm warning you: I'm not interested in buying insurance, or changing the terms of my contract, or anything like that. So, let's just get this over with so you can go—"

Something tumbled into the cabin as Kristoff opened the door. "Son of a—" He shook his head as he recognized the figure now lying on the floor. "Oh. It's you."

With a loud sigh, Kristoff helped the young woman to her feet. "What are you doing here? Did you really miss me that much?" He gestured toward the cloak draped around her shoulders, the hood upraised, obscuring her face. "Still wearing that, eh? Well, I admire your commitment to . . ."

His voice trailed off as he glanced out the open doorway. "Wait a minute. How did you get here? I don't see a car." He turned back toward the young woman. "Don't tell me you had somebody drop you off! That's just great! Someone _else_ now knows where I live!" Kristoff's cheeks were bright red with anger. He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket. "Perhaps I wasn't clear enough before. I. Don't. Want. To. Be. Bothered!" He pressed the redial button. "I'm calling Pops. He can come pick you up and do . . . something with you, I don't care what!" He frowned as the call went straight to voicemail once again. "Seriously? Don't you ever answer your phone—"

"He . . . He's not available at the moment."

Kristoff raised an eyebrow as Anna's voice emanated from beneath the hood. "Oh, he's not, is he? Too busy picking Elsa's brain in order to promote his career? Or maybe he's out parading her around for all of Arendelle to see. What did he do, cut you out of the project or something . . .?"

His voice trailed off as he heard a sniffing sound from beneath Anna's hood. "All right, that's it!" he said, grabbing hold of the fabric. "I don't know what's going on, but I—"

Kristoff stopped talking as he took a look at Anna's face, his annoyance quickly transforming into concern. The young woman's eyes were bloodshot, moist, her face streaked with tears, her entire demeanor emanating sheer exhaustion. A series of small cuts crossed her forehead. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked. "You look terrible!"

Anna breathed heavily, her eyes darting about, trying her best not to meet Kristoff's gaze. "I . . . I didn't know where else to go. And I'm sorry that I had to get someone to give me a ride here, but I made . . . I made them promise . . . not to . . . not to tell anyone, but . . ." She wiped her eyes, sniffing loudly. She looked out the doorway toward the rapidly setting sun. "I know it's getting late, but I just . . . I just wandered the streets for a while, and . . ." She laughed nervously. "I guess I sort of lost track of time, and—"

Kristoff's stomach was churning with concern. "What happened, Anna?" he asked as gently as he could, awkwardly taking hold of her hand. "Where's Pops? Where's . . ." He inhaled slowly, bracing himself. "Where's Elsa?"

At the mention of Elsa's name, Anna began crying uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "They . . . They . . . took . . . her!" she managed to choke out. "Elsa . . . Elsa's _gone_!"

* * *

"Here. Drink this."

Anna took the glass of peach schnapps from Kristoff, regarding the liquid suspiciously. "I . . . I don't drink."

"Everyone has to start somewhere," Kristoff responded. He poured himself a shot of schnapps, downing the alcohol in one fell swoop. He set the shot glass back on the table next to the stuffed reindeer. "And after what you've told me about what's happened since the three of you left on Sunday, if anyone deserves a drink, it's you."

Anna cautiously brough the glass to her lips. Closing her eyes, she took a sip of the liquid. Immediately, her face twisted in disgust. "Oh. Oh, that's . . . that's _terrible_!" Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to swallow the schnapps, her eyes watering at the unfamiliar sensation of liquid fire making its way down her throat.

"You'll get used to it," Kristoff said. He poured himself another shot, sipping it slowly this time. He glanced at the stuffed reindeer. "Sven, be polite here. Don't call our guest a 'lightweight.'"

Anna's regarded Kristoff nervously as she glanced from the man to the stuffed animal, then back to the man again. "Who . . . Who's your friend? He seems like a . . . good listener?"

Kristoff smiled grimly. "Oh, sorry. I forgot you hadn't met Sven yet." He patted the stuffed animal on the back. "My mother got him for me when I was . . . Come to think of it, I don't remember how old I was. I guess I've just always had him." He took another sip of his schnapps, his eyes catching the look of concern on Anna's face. "Don't worry, Anna. I'm not crazy. I've just . . . Years of living alone take their toll on you, you know? I've got to have _someone _to talk to, and you're right. He _is _a good listener."

Anna nodded, her gaze returning to her glass. She took another tentative sip. "You . . . You're right. It's not so bad after the first sip." She set her glass on the table, burying her head in her hands. "What are we going to do? What are they going to _do _to her?!"

Kristoff said nothing. Rather, he popped the cap off the second bottle of beer he had retrieved from the cellar. Anna stared at him as he nonchalantly guzzled the liquid, her expression mutating from despair to outrage. "That's it?!" she shouted, rising from her chair. "This is your reaction?! I tell you Dr. Andersen and . . . and _Elsa_—you know, someone you've known for a lot longer than I have, thank you very much—have been captured by the freaking U.S. military, and your first reaction is to drink yourself into a . . . a stupor?!" She hurled her glass across the room, the sound of its fragmentation as it collided with the wall filling the air. "What is _wrong _with you?!"

Kristoff glanced in the direction of the shattered glass momentarily before turning his attention back to Anna. "First of all, I don't have an unlimited supply of kitchen equipment here. So I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't go around smashing up things in my house."

Anna was now beside herself. "Seriously?! I come to you for help and this . . . this is how you act?! Why am I not surprised?! Ever since I met you, all you've done is show you care more for your precious upholstery in your truck, your kitchen equipment, your stupid stuffed reindeer, and . . . and getting absolutely plastered to care about anything else!" She grabbed the checkerboard from the table, sending pieces flying every which way. "Here! Sorry about the mess! How _dare _I disturb your perfect little hovel of piece and quiet you call a home!" She bent over the pile of empty beer bottles on the floor and began hurling them across the room. "Oops! Clumsy me! There goes another one! And another one! Oh, wait! I forgot: These are more important than people and . . . and . . ."

A loud scream erupted from her throat as she collapsed to the floor. She was crying again, and in spite of her best efforts, she was unable to stop herself. "Don't touch me!" she shouted as she tried to her best to push Kristoff away. "I . . . I don't need . . . your help! I'll . . . I'll rescue Elsa and Dr. Andersen myself and . . . and . . ."

This time, she did not resist as Kristoff gently lifted her to her feet, guiding her back into her chair. Nor did she protest as he wordlessly placed the stuffed reindeer in her lap. Involuntarily, she squeezed the toy as tightly as she could, its softness calming her, providing a sense of calm. "Sorry," she whispered after several long moments. "I . . . I just—"

"It's fine," Kristoff said, waving his hand dismissively. "You've actually done me a favor. I've needed an excuse to clean this place for a while." He poured himself another shot of schnapps, holding the shot glass before his eyes, staring silently at the liquid.

"I'm sorry about what I said about . . . about you only wanting to drink all the time," Anna said. "That was out of line, and I—"

"When I was seven," Kristoff interrupted, his gaze still focused upon the shot glass. "Mom got sick. As in, _really _sick. As in, beyond-the-ability-of-medicine-to-cure sick."

Anna felt her cheeks turn red with embarrassment. "I . . . I'm sorry," she mumbled, all too aware of how inadequate the words sounded even to her own ears. "I didn't know—"

Kristoff ignored her. "It got really bad really fast. One day, she was cooking dinner for Dad and me here, healthy as can be, and then the next . . ." He continued to stare at the shot glass, not acknowledging Anna's presence. "Anyway, Dad took me to the hospital in the 'Delle to see her when she was . . . well . . ."

He laughed, the sound, Anna noted, entirely devoid of joy. "I'd never been in the village before. All those walls in the hospital. The sounds. The . . . The _smell_ . . . Like everything is artificially clean, you know? Completely different from what it's like here." He cleared his throat. "I had Sven with me. Dad was telling me to be brave. That I needed to be strong because I . . . I was going to have to say . . ."

He turned to Anna. "But I couldn't do it. I couldn't see her. Not when I looked at her through the window of her room. All those machines hooked up to her. All the strange sounds they were making. She didn't . . . She didn't look like my mom at all. And so, I stayed out in the hallway while Dad went in and . . ."

Anna felt liquid pooling in the corner of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said once more, her voice little more than a whisper.

Kristoff looked back at the shot glass. "Dad didn't say a word to me for several days after Mom . . ." He ran a hand through his hair. "And while he told me later that it was all right, that he didn't resent me for not . . ." He cleared his throat. "I always _knew, _deep down, that he did."

"You were seven," Anna said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't have had to—"

Kristoff looked at her once more. "Not a day goes by when I don't think about it. About what a coward I was. About how Mom had to die without having the chance to see . . ." In a single, swift motion, he downed the contents of the shot glass. "Anyway, in case you're wondering, Anna: No, it doesn't take the pain away. It just makes it bearable enough for me to get through the day."

He tossed the shot glass over his shoulder. "Believe me, though. Whatever fear you're feeling right now about Elsa, I'm feeling it too. I've just learned over the years not to show it." He rose from his chair, grabbing his jacket from beside the door. "She practically raised me after Mom died. I'm not about to let anything happen to her if I can help it, believe me."

Anna stood up, doing her best to remain upright between the effects of the alcohol coupled with her exhaustion. "Where are you going? I'm going with you—"

"Oh, no, you're not," Kristoff said, forcing her back down into the chair. "You're in no condition to do anything for Elsa and Pops as it is. You're going to stay here and get some sleep while I take care of a few things."

Anna could feel her eyes growing heavy in spite of her best efforts to stay awake. "What . . . are you going to do?"

Kristoff smiled confidently. "I know someone who might be able to help us out. I'm going to give him a call. He owes me a favor or two." He paused, thinking. "Although, come to think of it, I _may _have already called them in . . ."

"You . . . _know_ people?"

"Shocking, I know," Kristoff replied. "Although this particular guy is probably not going around letting people know he knows me. But I'm sure he's forgotten all about what happened when . . ."

Anna's eyes were closed now, her mouth wide open as she slept. Her arms clung tightly to the stuffed reindeer in her lap. A series of soft snores began rising and falling from her throat.

The man of the Forest glanced down at the notepad he had retrieved from his pocket. On the pad were two names he had scribbled down as Anna had told him of the events of the past few days. "Okay, gentlemen," he said, putting the notepad back in his pocket. "I think both of you are due for a social call."

He glanced at the reindeer in Anna's hands. "Oh, don't give me that look. I promise, I'll be a perfect gentleman."

The stuffed animal's black eyes regarded him. "What? This?" Kristoff asked, gesturing toward the large duffel bag at his side. "You never know when rope and duct tape might come in handy, Sven. You know that."

Whistling, Kristoff opened the door, the duffel bag slung over his shoulder, the key to his truck in his hand. "Watch over her, Sven. I'll be back in a few hours. You've got this, buddy."

Kristoff shut the door behind him, locking it. His stomach continued to twist itself in knots as he made his way toward the truck, the world around him now lit only by the light of the moon. _Don't worry, Elsa, _he thought to himself, the truck's engine roaring to life. _Just hang tight. We're coming for you . . ._

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	17. Chapter 17: Recruitment

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Recruitment**

**Wednesday, March 27, 2019**

She felt nothing. At least, nothing that made any semblance of rational sense.

Her vision faded in and out, as did the sounds assaulting her ears. She could hear voices, recognize that words were being spoken, but she could not discern what they were saying. She could sense herself being moved about, but how and to where, she could not tell. Consciousness eluded her, remaining firmly out of her grasp; just when she thought she was about to regain full control of her senses, she would slip back into the darkness, welcoming the respite from the senseless void ensnaring her.

Light—blinding, white, unnatural light—overwhelmed her in the occasional moments she was able to open her eyes. Shadows danced at the corner of her sight, shadows that would occasionally take the shape of people dressed all in white, masks covering their faces, their whispered voices filling her mind. Pain, too, was omnipresent, like an uninvited houseguest that simply refused to leave long after overstaying his welcome. Something sharp kept piercing her flesh again and again in different places, sometimes briefly, sometimes for what felt like hours. At times, she thought she heard her own voice screaming over and over again without end, but perhaps that, too, was nothing more than an illusion.

In her more lucid moments, she could sense something was holding her down, preventing her from rising—bands of some sort, perhaps, her addled mind concluded. She could feel her lips trying to form words, but it was so hard, _so hard_ to do so . . .

_I . . . I am . . . ice. Snow. Cold. I . . . Ice . . ._

She thought she heard someone yelling, calling for help as, beneath her fingertips, she felt the familiar sensation of coldness begging her for release. The stabbing sensation entered her arm again, accompanied by the inevitable onslaught of darkness she had learned tended to follow such pains.

As blackness overwhelmed her, as she slipped back into the nothingness once more, her lips managed to form a single word: "A– . . . _Anna _. . ."

* * *

**12:15 a.m.**

It was shortly after midnight when George Isaacson finally returned to his apartment.

The chancellor exhaled slowly as he stepped inside the doorway of his residence, too exhausted to even turn on the light. Shutting the door behind him, Isaacson leaned against it, debating with himself whether he had the energy to make it to his bed, or if he would rather just slump to the floor and fall asleep then and there. He loosened his tie and tossed his overcoat across the room, the events of the day replaying in his mind.

Isaacson had spent most of the day holed up in his office, chain-smoking cigars and downing scotch. He had stopped answering the phone after the fifth call in a row from the local media outlets, each one trying desperately to get him to make a statement on just why he, as one of the 'Delle's most prominent leaders, thought the U.S. military had found it necessary to turn the city into a virtual war zone. As instructed by his over-the-phone contact, Isaacson refused to comment, and by the end of the day, the media were, amazingly, reporting that a routine training exercise had gone horribly wrong when a couple of trigger-happy grunts had flown off the handle. Isaacson remembered laughing mercilessly that evening when, still in his office, he watched the evening news and saw the reporters gleefully spouting whatever nonsense had been handed to them. _Amazing what checks with six or more figures will do for integrity in reporting._

Truth be told, Isaacson was worried. This was most certainly _not _what he had signed up for when he had made the call Monday night—_God, has it really only been one day? _He had expected Andersen and his student to be reasonable and cooperate, not to take engage in a joyride that had nearly resulted in the destruction of large parts of Arendelle. And, as much as he was loathe to admit this to himself, the chancellor was growing increasingly concerned with the fact that Andersen refused to answer his calls . . .

The chancellor rubbed his eyes, willing himself to stay awake long enough to stumble toward his bedroom. He glanced at his watch, the glow-in-the-dark hands glimmering light green in the darkness of the apartment. _Twelve fifteen, _he thought to himself, flicking on the apartment light. _Perfect. Just enough time for a few hours of sleep before_—

"A little late for a man your age to finally stumble home, isn't it, Chancellor?"

"Jesus!" Issacson practically leaped from his skin at the unexpected voice. His exhaustion melted away as adrenaline shot through his system. His glared in fury at the figure of the intruder seated—apparently, quite comfortably—upon his couch, mud-caked boots resting upon the hand-carved coffee table. "Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my apartment?!"

The young man leaned back on the couch, his shaggy hair quivering as he shrugged his shoulders. "That's not a very nice way to treat a guest, now, is it, Chancellor? Where in the world are your manners?"

Isaacson's eye twitched visibly. "My . . . manners?" He clenched his fists, astonishment and fright quickly morphing into anger. "I don't know how you found where I live, young man—"

"Public record."

Isaacson blinked, startled. "I . . . What?"

The man on the couch leaned back, as if what he were stating was patently obvious. He held up his cell phone. "Amazing the sort of things you can find on the internet these days."

Isaacson shook his head. "Like I was saying, I don't care how you found where I live, or how you broke into my home." He walked to the phone on the small table on the other side of the room, picking up the receiver. "But unless you vacate the premises in the next ten seconds, I'm calling the police and . . ."

His voice trailed off as he realized the phone line was dead. No dial tone, no sound whatsoever emanated from the receiver against his ear.

The young man on the couch shrugged innocently, nonchalantly tossing a pair of pliers from hand to hand. "Technology's a real pain in the ass, isn't it, Chancellor? Don't you just hate it when nothing works the way it's supposed to?"

Isaacson felt his blood pressure begin to rise. "You smug son of a bitch," he muttered. He reached into his pocket, feeling about for his cell phone, blood slowly draining from his face as he realized it was nowhere to be found.

"Looking for this?"

The chancellor felt his stomach churn as the intruder held up Isaacson's overcoat, dramatically reaching into one of the pockets, retrieving Isaacson's cell phone. Defeated, Isaacson felt his shoulders slump. "Fine. You win. Take whatever you want. Just get the hell out of here."

To Isaacson's surprise, the young man laughed, taking a long drink from a glass of what, Isaacson presumed, was brandy the intruder had helped himself to from the chancellor's private reserve. "Don't flatter yourself, Chancellor. Your décor's not really my style. And if I were here to simply rob you, I sure wouldn't have waited around for you to show up, now, would I?"

Isaacson conceded the point. "Then . . . Just what is it you _do _want?"

The young man's response was instantaneous. "Information. And your help."

The chancellor frowned. "My . . . help?"

"Yeah." His devil-may-care air dissipated, becoming deadly serious. "Because of you, someone I care about is in trouble."

Isaacson sputtered at the accusation. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about—"

"Like hell you don't."

The man rose from the couch, slowly sipping from his glass. Isaacson frowned as his uninvited guest seemed to stare off into nothingness for the briefest of moments. "Someone once told me," the young man continued, "it's not the sins we commit by _doing _something we regret the most, but the ones we commit when we do nothing." He turned his focus back on the chancellor. "You're getting up there in years, Chancellor. You sure you want to play dumb on this one?"

Isaacson inhaled sharply as he suddenly understood. "Are you saying, young man, that you . . . you _know _the Lady—"

"Yep."

The man advanced toward the chancellor. Isaacson raised his hands in protest as he backed away, his back pressed against the wall. "Wait . . . Wait a minute now. I . . . I didn't intend for this to happen. I was just following my contractual obligations! I swear! The minute Andersen told me about her, I had no choice but to call them—"

"Save it."

Isaacson swallowed as the man took hold of his shoulders. "Don't worry, Chancellor," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you _are _going to come with me. You got her into this mess. You're going to help get her out."

Isaacson sighed. "Look. There's really nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do now. If you think—"

The young man's cell phone began to ring. "Hold that thought," he ordered the chancellor. He brought the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"

Isaacson saw the man's face light up as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. "Where have you been? I've been calling you every ten minutes for the last hour and a half!"

The man rolled his eyes as he listened to his phone. "What do you mean, you're too busy? Come on. It's me. Kristoff. You _owe _me!"

Isaacson watched as the man—Kristoff—turned away, his hand gesticulating exasperatedly. "Oh, I don't think so!" Kristoff said into the phone. "As I recall, we are _not _even at all." He paused. "Because I bailed your ass out when you tried to short that German gang out of what you owed them, remember?" He paused again. "No, that doesn't count. And besides . . ."

His voice became low, hushed. Isaacson could barely make out what Kristoff was saying, only catching a handful of words: "Elsa . . . trouble . . . really bad . . ."

Isaacson ever-so-slowly began to inch his way toward the apartment door. Kristoff had his back to him now; if he could just make it to the door, he could—

"Great. Thank you for understanding. You'll want to take your chopper. Meet me at my place ASAP." Kristoff paused, still on the phone. "What should you bring?" He sighed. "Honestly, whatever you've got. Uniforms. Guns. Use your 'professional judgment.' And Ry?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks for this. I really mean it."

Kristoff put his phone in his pocket, turning around. "Sorry for the interruption, Chancellor. I . . ."

He sighed as Isaacson froze, unmoving just beside the apartment door. "Oh, come on, Isaacson," he said, stepping forward. "Don't make me do what you're showing me I have to do."

"Please," Isaacson whispered. "Just leave. I've told you all I know."

Kristoff frowned. "No, actually, I don't think you have. And anyway, I'm not really the one you need to explain yourself to." His thoughts flashed to the young woman currently asleep back in his home. "I'm honestly disappointed in you, Chancellor. One of your own professors is currently in the custody of a foreign government because of your own actions, and you aren't doing anything to help him?" He laughed. "I mean, I don't know much about universities are supposed to work, but that's just _cold_!"

"I told you!" Isaacson insisted, not sure who he was trying to convince more that he was blameless in the whole matter: Kristoff, or himself. "My hands are tied. There's nothing we can do! Arendelle's government isn't going to do a damn thing. Not after Uncle Sam makes another generous 'donation' to sweep this whole thing under the rug. What exactly are you proposing? That you try and infiltrate a U.S. military installation to free Jan and the Lady?!"

Kristoff did not respond.

"Good Christ!" Isaacson whispered, realization dawning on him. "You're . . . You're insane! Or suicidal! Or _both_!"

"Maybe." Kristoff shrugged nonchalantly once more. He cocked his head, studying a service commendation framed upon the wall. "You were in the military yourself?"

Isaacson stared at Kristoff, taken aback at the question. "I . . . Well, yes. After completing my undergraduate at Oxford. But as a translator on loan to the British government during the Cold War, nothing more! I don't see what that has to do with—"

"Good."

To Isaacson's surprise, Kristoff smiled. "Maybe you'll be more useful than I thought."

For the first time, Isaacson noticed the large duffel bag by Kristoff's feet. "What . . . What are you doing?" he asked as the young man picked up the bag, slowly unzipping it.

"This?" Kristoff glanced down at the contents. "Don't worry, Chancellor. This won't hurt. Much . . ."

* * *

**1:05 a.m.**

Kristoff pounded once more on the apartment door, sighing in exasperation. This was the address he had been able to get from the nice young woman he had spoken with on the phone in the university's student records department—Ingrid was her name, as he recalled. He had expected, frankly, to have to talk his way into getting the information he desired from her, only to find she was all-too-eager to provide him with anything he could possibly ask for regarding the student in question, along with some choice words she instructed him to deliver upon finding him.

After what seemed an eternity, the door finally opened. "Yo! Pizza man! Like, what took you so long, man? I ordered like an hour ago and—"

The young man's voice trailed off as he stared at Kristoff. "You're not the pizza dude, are you, bro?"

"'Fraid not," Kristoff responded. He took a good look at the student, the dim lighting of the corridor making it difficult to make out his features. "Mr. Stephenson?"

The student looked at him, confused. "Uh . . . Yeah. That's me. Like, what's this all about, man?" A look of concern suddenly came over his face. "Look, bro, if this is about me not paying Mikey for the stuff he got for me last week, I'm workin' on it, I swear—"

"Stop. Just . . . Just stop."

The rather pungent scent of various . . . _herbal _incendiaries washing off Stephenson and emanating from his apartment was making it rather for Kristoff to breathe. "I don't know who Mikey is, and I don't care. I'm actually here with a message from Ingrid."

At the mention of Ingrid's name, Stephenson appeared to sober up in an instant. He attempted to slam the door in Kristoff's face, but the woodsman managed to take hold of the door before Stephenson could close it. With a heavy shove, Kristoff forced the door into the apartment, sending Stephenson flying backward onto the floor.

"You know it's not polite to tell a girl you'll go on a date with her and then blow her off, right?" Kristoff said, standing over Stephenson.

"Look, man!" Stephenson protested, rising. "I didn't mean to, I swear! I just, like, lost track of time and all!"

Kristoff looked about the disheveled apartment. Copious amounts of burned-out cigarettes of various contents and empty beer bottles littered the floor. "Uh-huh. Right."

"I swear, man!" Stephenson exclaimed. "Seriously, Ingrid hired you to—"

"No," Kristoff interrupted. "I'm actually here because _I_ want to hire _you_."

Stephenson's mouth opened, then closed again quickly. He stared at Kristoff in disbelief. "I . . . Wait, what, bro?"

Kristoff gestured to the large desktop computer buried under mounds of clothes on the desk. "My understanding is that you are quite an expert in digital video. Editing. Things like that."

"Yeah," Stephenson said. "But—"

"Any other computer hobbies of yours that might be useful?"

Stephenson fell silent. Kristoff raised an eyebrow. "Well? I'm not a cop, if that's what you're worried about."

The student thought for a moment, sighing. "How much we talkin' about, dude? What's the job?"

Wordlessly, Kristoff withdrew a wad of large bills from his pocket, tossing it on the floor by Stephenson's feet. "That's just a down payment."

Stephenson picked up the wad of bills, his eyes growing wide as he calculated the amount. "Shit, bro!" he gasped. "I'm in! What do you need me to do?"

Kristoff smiled slightly. "Based on my . . . limited knowledge of you, you like to consider yourself the type of guy who wants to fight the system. Stick it to the man. Am I right?"

Stephenson giggled. "Yeah. You got it, bro."

"Good." Kristoff looked Stephenson directly in the face. "Now, you're no good to me unless you say 'yes' to this next question: Do you know how to hack into secure computer systems? Take control of, say, the surveillance cameras, bypass security systems, that sort of thing?"

Stephenson looked at his feet. "Legally, dude, I'm required to say—"

"Yes or no?!"

Stephenson looked up. "How complex? How secure, bro?"

"Very." Kristoff looked at his Omega watch, grimacing. "I can't tell you anymore here. I'm running late as it is. I've got an appointment with an old friend I have to keep. You want the details and the job, follow me."

"Sure thing, bro," Stephenson said, reaching for a pair of jeans on the floor. "I'm right behind you. Just, like, let me put on some pants, first."

Having pulled on his jeans, Stephenson quickly stuffed a laptop, several network cables, and other computer paraphernalia into a backpack, zipping it tightly. Wordlessly, he followed Kristoff down the corridor and out to the parking lot, stopping before Kristoff's truck.

"Get in," Kristoff said, gesturing toward the passenger seat. "Oh, and before I forget: Just ignore the guy in the back seat."

"Wait, what?"

Stephenson climbed in the passenger seat. Glancing over his shoulder, he nearly jumped back out of the truck. "Shit, bro! Is that who I think it is? What kind of job is this, man?!"

Chancellor Isaacson sat on the bench seat, suit and hair disheveled, arms and legs bound tight with rope, duct tape secure over his mouth. At the sight of Stephenson, a series of muffled yells and grunts emanated from the chancellor's throat. Isaacson rocked back and forth, attempting to free himself from his restraints.

"I told you," Kristoff said with a sigh as he climbed into the driver's seat. "As long as you keep trying to get away, you're going to be tied up, Chancellor. You've been trying to get out of there for half an hour now. It's not going to happen, so I'd just save your energy if I were you. We have a long night, and an ever longer day, ahead."

The truck's engine roared to life. Kristoff put the vehicle in gear, racing out of the parking lot, back toward the road outside of town that would take him in the direction of his home.

"Oh, and one more thing," Kristoff said, glancing at Stephenson. "Ingrid . . ."

He smiled slightly to himself as he saw Stephenson cringe visibly at the mention of that name. "Ingrid also happened to mention that the other day, you asked her for a student's records: Anna Reinhart."

"Yeah, bro," Stephenson said. The wheels in his head began spinning, pieces of the puzzle suddenly beginning to come into place. "Wait a minute. Is this . . . Is this about the ice lady? And that crazy shit that happened today with the—"

"Yep," Kristoff said. He pressed down harder on the accelerator, eager to get out of the city as quickly as possible. "So before I tell you any more about the job, I need you to tell me what was in Anna Reinhart's file."

Stephenson looked at Kristoff incredulously. "Okay, bro," he said, exhaling slowly. "Okay . . ."

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	18. Chapter 18: Convening

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Convening**

_"You don't have to do this by yourself, Elsa! Come back to Arendelle with me. Please!"_

_ "How can you say that? What power do you have to stop this winter I've created? To stop _me _from making it worse?!"_

_ "I don't know! I just . . . I just _know _if we do it together, we can make things right!"_

_ "Stop it, Anna! Just . . . Just stop! You're making it . . . I can't . . . I can't stop myself from—"_

_ "Yes, you can! I _believe _in you, Elsa!"_

_ "Why?! What reason do you have to believe in me at all? No matter what I do, no matter how much I try, all I ever do is hurt you! Please, Anna. Leave now. Leave, and never come back!"_

_ "I won't, Elsa! You can't . . . You can't make me—"_

_ "You're upsetting me, Anna! And when I get upset, I can't control it—"_

_ "I'm _not _leaving without you, Elsa!"_

_ "Anna, STOP . . .!"_

* * *

**Wednesday, March 27, 2019**

**2:23 a.m.**

"Elsa!"

Anna shot up, eyes wide, heart pounding furiously within her breast, her breathing ragged. Confused, she looked around, her mind finally recognizing where she was. She was in Kristoff's cabin, her exhausted form sprawled across the woodsman's couch. Groaning, she forced herself to breathe, to calm herself, the dream she had been having slowly fading from her mind. _It was only a dream, _she told herself as she felt her heart rate return to normal. _Just a dream. Nothing more._

_ Then why, _a small voice inside her mind queried. _Why did it feel so _real_? And why do you feel such pain and coldness in your heart?_

"Shut up," the young woman muttered, not certain to whom, precisely, she was addressing the command. Her hand came to rest above her heart involuntarily, the sense of frigidity that had awoken her slowly fading away into nothingness. She rested her brow against the palms of her hands. _It was just a dream. You're just upset because Elsa's been taken away, that's all. It was just a dream. It was just a dream._

_ Then, _the voice in her mind countered. _Why did it feel like it actually happened?_

Anna retrieved her phone from her pocket, the light from the device illuminating the darkened cabin. She frowned as she saw the time. _Two twenty-three. _She glanced toward the cabin door. _I would have thought Kristoff would have been back by now._

A loud growling sound filled the cabin. Anna glanced downward, her cheeks turning slightly red as she realized the sound had been the rumbling of her own stomach. The young woman suddenly realized she had not eaten since breakfast that morning. Rising, she made her way toward Kristoff's kitchen, if "kitchen" was, in fact, the correct word for the cluttered mass of cupboards and foodstuffs strewn about. She held her phone before her, using the glow from its screen to give her enough light to rummage through the supplies her host had on hand. Her heart sank as she saw the meager offerings before her. _If I have to eat one more of his protein bars, I'm going to—_

Her stomach growled again, louder this time. Anna sighed, her gaze turning toward the stairway leading to the cellar. "Maybe there's something down there," she muttered.

Anna's gaze fell upon the stuffed reindeer staring at her from the small table by the couch. "He won't mind if I poke around there, will he, Sven?"

The toy stared back at her, unresponsive. The young woman smiled. "That's what I thought."

Anna turned on her phone's flashlight, carefully making her way down the stairs to the cellar. The underground storage space seemed smaller than she remembered from her last visit down there the preceding Friday. Carefully, she stepped toward the wall, her eyes roaming the shelves, searching for anything edible.

"Let's see," she muttered. "Beer. Schnapps. Beer. Potatoes." Her face wrinkled as she examined the bag of vegetables more closely. "Make that 'moldy potatoes.'" She sighed as she continued down the shelf. "Bread. Schnapps. Aha!"

Her eyes lit up as she found a large jar of still-sealed peanut butter. She turned her attention back to the loaf of bread. Satisfied that the bread was perfectly safe to eat, she ripped the seal off the jar of peanut butter and dipped a slice of bread into it. "Oh, _yes_!" she murmured as she chewed, certain in that moment that this was the most delicious meal she had ever eaten. "I will never," she said to herself as she dipped another slice of bread into the jar, "knock peanut butter ever again . . ."

Her voice trailed off as something in the corner of her vision caught her attention. Stuffing the second slice of bread into her mouth, she held her phone before her, the light from the flashlight illuminating the darkened cellar. She moved forward cautiously, uncertain of just what it was that had drawn her attention.

She inhaled, nearly choking on her food, as she realized what she was looking at. Against the far wall of the cellar rested a large painting, nearly as tall as she was. Anna blinked. It seemed out of place down here, she considered, given what she knew of Kristoff's relative lack of interest in the finer things in life. Swallowing, Anna took three additional steps forward, her eyes widening as she beheld the artwork.

It was a portrait of Elsa. The Lady in White was dressed not in white, but rather in a shimmering dress of blue, the same shade of blue, Anna realized, that formed at Elsa's fingertips whenever she summoned her ice and snow. The Elsa in the painting was smiling broadly, looking happier than Anna had seen her in the short time they had known one another. The young woman reached out her hand to touch the painting, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the painted Elsa's cheek. Anna felt liquid threatening to spill from her eyes as she looked into the painted woman's ice blue eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Elsa," Anna whispered, her lip trembling. "This is all my fault! You should have stayed in your forest. You would have been safe. I . . . I don't know what they're doing to you now, but I . . . I'm going to get you back somehow. I promise . . ."

Anna's voice faded away as she saw that the painted Elsa's arm was tightly wrapped around someone else's waist. Just who that person was Anna could not tell, as a long, heavy sheet was draped over the top of that portion of the painting, covering the mystery figure's features. Anna's brow furrowed as she leaned forward, her hand taking hold of the sheet. As her fingers made contact with the sheet, her mind suddenly took her somewhere else entirely . . .

* * *

_"Hold still, Anna!"_

_ Anna blinked as she stared at Elsa, arms folded in mock indignation. "Me? _You're _the one who's moving around, thank you very much. I am being a perfect lady over here."_

_ "Oh, really?" Elsa raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose that's why you keep fidgeting every time Armand here tries to get to work."_

_ Anna rolled her eyes as the painter nodded in assent at Elsa's words. "I hate posing for paintings," she muttered. "It's so boring and . . . and time consuming!"_

_ "Oh, come on," Elsa said. "You've been telling me for the past three months how much you enjoy spending time with me."_

_ "_Doing_ stuff," Anna grumbled. "Not just standing here."_

_ A hurt expression formed on Elsa's face. "Do . . . Do you really hate it that much?"_

_ Anna grimaced as she realized what she had done. "No! Of course not! I just . . . It's fine!"_

_ Elsa was wringing her hands now, a signal, Anna had learned over the past three months, that her anxiety was threatening to overtake her again. "You hate it." She turned away. "This was a bad idea."_

_ Anna sighed. "No. No, it isn't." She put her hand on Elsa's shoulder. "Really."_

_ Elsa refused to meet her gaze. "I . . . I just wanted to have something that would make this last forever. What we have now, I mean. The two of us . . . Together." She turned to face Anna, her expression now as melancholic as Anna had ever seen it. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I . . . I shouldn't have assumed . . . I mean, after how I've treated you all these years—"_

_ "Stop."_

_ Anna brought a finger to her older sister's lips. "We've been over this already. Remember? Water under the bridge. Remember?"_

_ The queen of Arendelle nodded silently. Anna smiled. "It's very thoughtful of you. Wanting a painting of us, I mean." She turned back toward the artist. "All right, Armand. Get to work now."_

_ "Anna?" Elsa looked at the princess uncertainly. "Are . . . Are you sure this is all right?"_

_ Anna responded by taking hold of Elsa's hand, squeezing it gently, welcoming the coolness of her older sister's touch. "Oh, yeah," she said, wrapping Elsa's hand around her waist, standing shoulder to shoulder with the queen. "Not a problem."_

_ "Thank you," Elsa said. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips. "Because I already asked Armand if he could do paintings of us in five other poses and—"_

_ "What?! Oh, come on!"_

_ Elsa grimaced as Anna pinched her wrist. "Just kidding! Just kidding!"_

_ As Armand began sketching on the canvas before him, Anna shot a quick glance back at Elsa. "You know I'm never going to leave you, right? That no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you. You don't have to worry about that. Ever."_

_ Elsa tightened her grip on Anna's waist. "Promise?" she whispered._

_ Anna responded by squeezing Elsa's hand tightly. "Promise . . ."_

* * *

"Anna!"

Anna blinked, her attention suddenly drawn back her present surroundings as she heard the door upstairs open and close. "Anna? You all right?"

Anna pulled her hand back from the sheet, the fabric still draped over the second figure in the portrait, no time available for her to dwell upon her unexpected reverie. The young woman raced up the stairs to the main living area of the cabin. "I'm here," she said. "Sorry, but I was hungry, and you didn't have anything up here that looked particularly good to eat."

Kristoff shook his head, laughing, as he turned on the cabin lights. "My sincerest apologies," he said. "I'll be sure to have you make the grocery list the next time I go into town for supplies."

Anna looked at him, expectantly. "Did . . . I mean, were you able to get whatever you needed to—"

As if on cue, Stephenson walked through the door. "Whoa! Nice place you have here, bro." He immediately plopped himself down on the couch. "Seriously, I could get used to this."

Anna looked at Kristoff. "What . . . What is _he _doing here? How is some pothead camera guy going to help us get Elsa back?"

Stephenson looked up from the marijuana cigarette he was in the process of lighting. "I heard that."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Good for you." She turned her attention back to Kristoff. "Please tell me you have a plan."

"Yep." The woodsman walked back to the doorway. "Now, I have a surprise for you, but you have to promise me something before I bring it in here."

Anna rubbed her eyes. "I'm too tired for riddles right now, Mr. Bjorgman," she said. "What is it?"

Kristoff folded his arms. "First, you have to promise me you won't get upset."

The young woman looked at him in confusion. "Fine. Whatever. Just bring it in here."

Kristoff looked her straight in the eyes. "Remember: You promised." He exited the cabin, leaving the doorway open behind him. Anna frowned as she heard what sounded like scuffling feet outside the cabin. Before she could investigate, Kristoff reentered the cabin. "Here you go."

Anna's cheeks turned red, her face twisted in fury. "You!" she screamed.

Chancellor Isaacson, still bound hand and foot, looked at Kristoff, a panicked expression upon his face. The next thing he knew, Anna had grabbed hold of his jacket lapels. With a shove, the young woman forced Isaacson onto the couch next to Stephenson, knocking the cigarette from the student's mouth. "Seriously, dude?" Stephenson complained. "I just, like, rolled that—"

"Shut up!" Anna snapped. She ripped the duct tape of Isaacson's mouth, taking a great deal of pleasure at the screams of pain emanating from the chancellor's throat. "What is _he _doing here?!" Anna shouted at Kristoff. "Why did you bring him?"

Isaacson swallowed. "If . . . If I may, Miss . . . Reinhart, is it?"

Anna was livid now. "How _dare _you?!" she screamed. "This is all your fault! If it weren't for you, Elsa wouldn't be . . . And Dr. Andersen would be . . ." Her hands were shaking now, she realized. Liquid was flowing from her eyes as well, and she _hated _it. With a scream of rage, she turned back toward Kristoff. "Why. Is. He. Here?!"

"If I may," Isaacson offered. "I would like the answer to that question as well—"

Kristoff placed his hands gently but firmly on Anna's shoulders before the young woman could react to Isaacson's words. "Anna, calm down. I need you to trust me on this, okay? There's a plan, I promise. I'll explain in a little bit, but you need to promise me you aren't going to seriously injure the people I've brought here. Okay?"

Anna blinked, willing herself to calm down. "So. You have a plan. Do you mind explaining what it is?"

From the couch, Stephenson's giggle filled the air. "_I _know the plan, 'Anna Reinhart,'" he said, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "At least my part in it."

Anna felt her fingers on both hands curling into fists. "Great. Wonderful." She sighed. "Do you mind filling me in on this brilliant plan of yours—"

Her words were cut off by the sound of something loud approaching the cabin. Anna recognized the sound in an instant. "It's the military!" she whispered. "They've found us!"

"Not likely," Kristoff responded, glancing at his watch. "Good. Right on time."

Kristoff exited the cabin, Anna hot on his heels. Her eyes widened as, through the dark of night, she saw a helicopter some thirty yards from the cabin, the low rumble of its propeller slowly receding into nothingness as its pilot powered down the aircraft.

"What's this?" Anna asked as she and Kristoff approached the now-silent chopper. "A friend of yours?"

Kristoff nodded, his face visible only due to the lights still radiating from the helicopter. "You could say that. Just let me do the talking. He's a little paranoid—"

The helicopter door opened. A figure emerged, arms outstretched. "Bjorgman!"

Kristoff stepped forward, arms clasping the new arrival in a long, tight hug. "Ah, Ry! So good to see you again. Thanks for coming on such short notice."

The man released himself from Kristoff's embrace. Anna squinted, trying her best to make out the man's features in the dim light of the helicopter's landing lights. The man was about the same age as Kristoff, perhaps a few years younger, Anna reckoned. His shaggy brown hair surrounded a face that seemed the color of coffee with too much cream added to it. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cargo pants, a large backpack slung about his shoulders.

The man gestured toward the helicopter. "You can do the heavy lifting, Bjorgman," he said, laughing. "Everything you asked for is in there." He gestured toward three very large, very heavy looking suitcases resting behind the pilot seat. "Everything and then some."

Kristoff raised an eyebrow. "'And then some'?"

The man laughed again. "Yeah. I just threw together everything I thought you might need, even things you didn't ask for. You know what they say . . ."

His words faded away as he suddenly realized Anna was standing just behind Kristoff. "Who's your lady friend, Bjorgman?" he asked. "And more importantly, why is she with you in the first place? Don't tell me her standards are that low—"

"Stop it," Kristoff said. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Anna glanced at Kristoff. "Does your friend have a name?"

The man straightened up, running a hand through his hair. "Ryder. And you are?"

Anna looked at the man. "So it's just 'Ryder,' huh?"

"Yep," Ryder responded. "In my line of work, I find it best if my clients and I, ah, don't get too closely acquainted. Too many bad things can happen, if you know what I mean."

The young woman shook Ryder's outstretched hand wearily. "Fine. I'm Anna. Anna Reinhart."

Ryder smiled broadly. "Pleasure to meet you, Anna."

Anna pulled her arm back before Ryder could kiss it.

"Ry," Kristoff said, picking up two of the suitcases. "Inside. And behave."

The man shrugged innocently. "When has that ever been a concern?"

"Since I've known you," Kristoff responded. He gestured toward the cabin with his head. "Inside. We've got work to do."

"All right, all right," Ryder said, making his way toward the cabin. "I expect two beers for my trouble . . ."

"Who is this guy?" Anna whispered once Ryder was safely out of earshot. "He seems . . . I don't know, untrustworthy."

Kristoff sighed. "Ry and I go way back. He and I grew up together. He's one of the last of the Northuldra, after all—"

"What?!" Anna glared at Kristoff, her voice still a whisper. "You said the Northuldra all died of a plague a long time ago!"

Kristoff shrugged. "No. What I _said _was that my grandfather told me _his _grandfather told him they had all died. Which is true. It's just that my grandfather's grandfather was . . . misinformed. Most of them did die of the plague, yes. But there was a handful that survived that retreated deeper into the forest to try to preserve their culture." He sighed. "Hopefully, Ry decides to settle down at some point, or there really won't be much likelihood of the Northuldra line continuing."

Anna opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again. After several long moments of silence, she spoke. "Fine. You had your reasons to not tell me the whole truth before. I get it. But you need to fix that habit right now, Mr. Bjorgman, you got it? No more secrets or parsing the truth, understand?"

"Fair enough."

Anna turned toward the large suitcase still inside the helicopter. "So, what is he? An arms dealer or something like that?"

Kristoff laughed. "Something like that. Let's just say Ry has established himself as the premier supplier of surplus U.S. military equipment in this part of Europe."

Anna frowned. "And I'm sure it's all perfectly legal and legitimate, right?"

Kristoff sighed. "Look, Anna. With what we're going up against to get Elsa back, we're going to have to do some things that are most certainly _not _legal. If that's a problem for you—"

"It isn't." Anna's response was instantaneous. She turned back to face Kristoff. "So, what are we waiting for? Let's get inside and here this great plan you've worked up."

The woodsman smiled. "That's the spirit." He picked up the two suitcases at his side, turning to walk toward the cabin. "Do you mind grabbing that last one for me? Thanks so much!"

Anna opened her mouth to protest, but Kristoff was already ten paces away, whistling loudly. Sighing, the young woman reached into the helicopter, taking hold of the suitcase. "This can't be too bad, right? I mean, how heavy can it . . ." She pulled on the suitcase with all her might. "Come on, come on, come on, _come on_!"

Exhausted, panting, Anna felt her heart sink as she realized the suitcase hadn't moved an inch.

"Come on, AH-na!" she heard Kristoff yell from the cabin door. "What's taking so long?"

_Perfect. Just perfect . . ._

* * *

**AN: Thank you to all who have left such courteous feedback on past chapters. It is very much appreciated, believe me. More to come!**


	19. Chapter 19: Plan

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Plan**

**Wednesday, March 27, 2019**

**2:45 a.m.**

"Really? _This _is your plan?!"

Kristoff folded his arms as he looked Anna in the eyes. "I'm sorry, AH-na. If you have a better suggestion, by all means, share it."

Anna threw up her hands. "I don't know. Anything seems better than yours!" She turned to Ryder. "You said you brought weapons with you. Can't you like, I don't know, just blow a giant hole in the base and drop us in with your helicopter or something?"

Ryder stared at Anna as if the young woman had just sprouted antlers from her forehead. "You're joking, right? You're an American, aren't you? Don't you have the first idea what your own military would do if we went in hot, guns blazing? They'd blow my helicopter out of the sky before we got within five miles of that base. And then, assuming we survived the inevitable fiery crash, we'd be in their custody—or shot on sight—before we knew what happened to us." He laughed, shaking his head in disdain. "You've been watching too many action movies, I think."

Anna opened her mouth to reply, then quickly shut it again as she realized that Ryder, as much as it annoyed her to admit it, was right.

"Our only chance," Ryder said, withdrawing a large stack of rolled-up papers from his backpack, "is subtly and infiltration." He laid the papers on the table, brushing aside the dirty dishes and empty beer bottles strewn about. "After you called me," he said, glancing at Kristoff, "I just so happened to remember I had a complete schematic of this base in my files."

"You have files?" Anna muttered under her breath. "How exactly did you get these?"

Ryder looked at Anna. "Do you really want to know?"

Anna sighed. "Probably not."

Ryder gestured for Kristoff and Anna to join him around the table. "Now, this isn't going to be easy. Not by a long shot. This place is a rat's nest of corridors that all look virtually identical. One wrong turn and we've just cost ourselves valuable time that could mean the difference between us sneaking out with Elsa and the professor before they realize we were even there and them figuring out what we're doing. And I'm pretty sure we _don't _want them doing that."

Anna felt her stomach begin to hurt—a lot. "I don't know," she said, looking at Kristoff, a worried expression on her face. "You're pinning a lot of your plan on our friend here . . ." She gestured toward Stephenson still seated on the couch, his eyes glued to his laptop. "Being able to hack into their network and navigate us through this base. How do we know he can even do it?"

A high-pitched _whine _suddenly filled the cabin. Anna covered her ears, the noise growing louder by the second. "What is _that_?!"

"Anna," Kristoff shouted over the annoying din. "It's coming from your pocket."

"What?!" Anna stared at Kristoff is confusion, unable to understand him. "What did you—Hey!"

Kristoff shoved his hand into Anna's pocket, ignoring the young woman's protests. He withdrew the student's cell phone, the sound now deafening as it radiated from the device. "Here!"

The sound disappeared the moment Anna glanced down at her phone, her eyes growing wide in astonishment as she saw . . .

"What is this?!" she shouted, whirling about, her gaze fixated upon Stephenson, the young man's eyes still glued to his laptop, fingers tapping furiously across the keyboard. "What did you do?"

Stephenson looked up nonchalantly. "Like, chill out, Anna Reinhart. You're, like, harshing my mellow here—"

Anna thrust her phone into Stephenson's face. "You've made your point. Now, make it go away!"

Stephenson's annoying giggle filled the air as he glanced at Anna's phone. A photo of his face now filled the screen. "What? You don't like it?"

"No, I don't like it!" Anna retorted, her fingers furiously trying to unlock her phone, an exasperated sigh emanating from her throat as she finally gave up. Whatever Stephenson had done, he had completely blocked her access to her own device. Her passcode refused to work, every attempted entry of the code bringing nothing more than a message of "What's the magic word?" across the screen. "Okay, okay," she grumbled. "I'm sorry I doubted you. Now, can you undo what you've done to my phone?" Another "What's the magic word?" message flashed across the screen. "Please?"

"Sure thing, Anna Reinhart," Stephenson said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Seconds later, Stephenson's photo vanished from Anna's phone, her device now responding to her commands as usual. "So, like, does that, I don't know, make you feel better?"

Anna ran a hand through her hair. "I . . . guess so." She cocked her head, thinking. "You really think you can access their computer system from here?"

"Hell, no," Stephenson said, taking a long drag from his marijuana cigarette. "I can't just, like, use a cell tower for that. I've gotta have access to a wireless network. Or an ethernet hardline."

Anna's eye twitched. "And just where do you think you're going to find someone who's going to let you, I don't know, use their wi-fi or ethernet to hack into a military system?" She felt her heart sink as she suddenly realized what Stephenson was thinking. "Oh, jeez. You're going to use the university's network, aren't you?!"

"If I may interject," Issacson said, still bound hand and foot on the couch next to Stephenson. "I'm afraid I cannot authorize use of university facilities for such a blatantly illegal action!"

"Relax, Chancellor dude," Stephenson said. He looked at his bag. "They'll never even know I was there. I'm gonna, like, reroute my signal through so many VPNs and proxy servers that even if they do find I'm in there, they'll think I'm in freaking Colorado."

"Speaking of which," Ryder said. He reached into his bag, withdrawing a small flash drive. He tossed it to Stephenson. "This has the access codes to their network for the next week and a half, as well as what you need to slide yourself right into their security system."

Anna's face paled. "How did you . . . You know what, never mind. I don't want to know."

"I didn't kill anyone for them, if that's what you're worried about," Ryder offered, shrugging. "Bribery, on the other hand . . ."

Kristoff laughed. "Good work, Ry. Now, what did you bring for weapons?"

Ryder's face fell slightly. "Well, here's the problem. You're not going to be able to carry anything on your person. You're going to have to go through a security scan just to get into the base, and there's absolutely no way you'll be able to carry anything with you, even if they you're dressed as an officer."

Anna glanced at one of the now-open suitcases Ryder had brought with him. The suitcase was practically filled to bursting with uniforms of every branch of the U.S. services, of various sizes and cuts to suit a wide assortment of body types. "These certainly look authentic," she muttered.

"'Cause they are!" Ryder said. "Nothing but the best for my boy Bjorgman here." He turned to Kristoff. "Anyway, I can forge you the credentials you need to get you on that base, but I can't give you anything they'll be able to detect as a weapon. A base with the type of security clearance this one has, there's no way in hell they're going to let outside personnel show up packing heat, even if they look kosher."

"Then what are all these for?" Anna interjected, pointing at the other two suitcases, each filled to the brim with guns, knives, and explosives of every shape and type.

Ryder sighed. "Your lady friend," he said to Kristoff, "sure asks a lot of questions."

"It's kind of her thing," Kristoff said. "You learn to tolerate it after a while. Mostly."

"I _heard _that . . ."

Ryder glanced at Anna. "Since you asked, these are our backup support for when Bjorgman here leaves with Elsa and the professor. I wait in Bjorgman's truck until he signals me he's ready, then I cover his escape with . . ." He gestured dramatically toward the suitcases, frowning. "Hopefully, it won't come to that, but better to be overprepared than not, right?"

"Wait, wait, wait a minute!" Anna's heart was racing now. "I thought this plan was bad before, but now you're telling me we're sending Kristoff in without any kind of help at all? No weapons? Nothing?! How is that not a recipe for disaster?"

Ryder stared at Anna like he was studying a specimen from another planet. "You know, you're awfully pessimistic for someone your age." He held up a small, spherical object. "First of all, Bjorgman here is going to have one of these in his ear. We'll be in constant communication on a private, untraceable channel. Me, him, and Stephenson here are all going to have one. So if he needs anything, in there, one of us can help him out. And second, I have a few surprises I've brought along that will help him out if he needs it."

Anna frowned. "I thought you said no weapons on the base."

Ryder shook his head. "You know, for an academic, you sure don't seem to have much imagination—"

"Excuse me for being realistic," Anna shot back. "Look, this is all happening too fast. I want Elsa rescued as soon as possible, but shouldn't we like, I don't know, think this through a little more first?"

"Unfortunately," Ryder said, "we don't have the luxury of time. The same friend who gave us the security codes has also informed me there's a flight chartered from that base to the States for first thing tomorrow morning. Manifest says it's loaded with medical equipment and maximum security personnel." He sighed. "Want to take a guess who's going to be on that flight?"

"He's right, Anna," Kristoff said. "We have to act tonight. If they get Elsa into the U.S., we'll never find her again."

Anna hesitated before, finally, nodding in assent. "All right. I don't like it, but I guess we don't have much of a choice—"

"If I might interject again," Isaacson said from the couch, "I thought you were insane before. Now I _know _you are!" He glared at Kristoff. "You can forge all the credentials you want, dress up like an officer, but you don't know the first thing about military protocol. You'll be in custody the moment you slip up!" He pointed his head toward Ryder. "Not that I care, but if anything, _he _should be the one doing the infiltrating. He at least seems to know what he's doing—"

"Uh, about that," Ryder said, his cheeks suddenly turning very, very red. "I kind of can't do that. I'm sort of . . . how do you say it . . . 'greatly desired for apprehension' by the U.S. government."

Anna blinked. "Oh, you've got to be kidding! You're on the FBI's Most Wanted List, aren't you?"

"Not . . . exactly," Ryder said, "since the FBI has no jurisdiction overseas. Although, to be honest, it would be easier if I were. The FBI doesn't go around making sure you and any trace you ever existed vanish off the face of the earth like the people who are after me do."

Anna slumped into her chair. "Fantastic."

"Look, I'm taking a big enough risk here as it is," Ryder insisted. "And believe me, if it wasn't Elsa we were talking about, there's no way in hell I'd go within a hundred miles of any American—"

"How noble of you," Isaacson muttered, rolling his eyes.

Ryder furrowed his brow angrily. "It might seem stupid to you, old man, but my people still believe in something called honor and loyalty to our friends. We Northuldra, few though we may be, will always come to the aid of a friend in need, no matter how desperate the situation." He sighed. "I just have my limits on what I can do."

"Exactly," Kristoff said. He turned his attention back to Isaacson. "You're right, Chancellor. I don't know a thing about military protocol. But you do. Which is precisely why you're coming with me."

"_What?!"_

Both Issacson and Anna looked at Kristoff, jaws agape. "Absolutely not, young man," Isaacson said. "I will not be a party to this—"

"You're already a party to this, Chancellor," Kristoff said. "You've been sitting in on a meeting where plans have been discussed to infiltrate a U.S. military installation. I'm not an expert on American law, but I'm pretty sure the U.S. government doesn't look too kindly on people who do that sort of thing."

"Against my will, need I remind you!" Isaacson sputtered. "Look at me! I'm still tied up, for Christ's sake!"

"I don't see any ropes holding you down," Kristoff said, nonchalantly. He looked at Ryder. "You see anything, Ry?"

"Uh-uh."

Kristoff walked to Stephenson, already on his third herbal cigarette of the hour. "What about you, Stephenson?"

"Nada, bro," Stephenson said, inhaling slowly. "Not a thing . . ."

Kristoff leaned over the back of the couch, his face mere inches from Isaacson's ear. "Let me make this clear, Chancellor. You refuse to help us and I get caught, guess who the first person I'm giving up is? You think you're in a bad situation now, just wait until you're under investigation for aiding and abetting terrorism against the U.S. government. You think the board of your precious university is going to let you remain in your position while you've brought that sort of scandal to the school, even if you're eventually cleared?"

"You son of a bitch," Isaacson hissed, his face now very, very pale. "This . . . This is extortion!"

"No," Kristoff said, clasping his hand on the older man's shoulder. "This is restitution on your part for putting Elsa and Pops in this situation in the first place. Your penance, if you believe in that sort of thing."

Isaacson looked at Anna, his eyes filled with desperation. "Miss Reinhart," he said. "Dr. Andersen spoke very highly of you, of your potential. That fellowship I promised you is still yours for the taking if you help me get out of this. But if you join these . . . these miscreants here and force me to go along with this, I will have no alternative but to see to it you are summarily expelled from the university with cause, and that every other institution of higher learning in Europe sees to it you are persona non grata on their campuses. When I'm finished with you, you'll consider yourself lucky to be admitted to some community college in Idaho!" He glared at her. "Is this really what you want to do, Miss Reinhart? Throw away your entire career before it even has a chance to get started, over someone you have known for less than a week?"

Anna sat in silence, unmoving. After several long, interminable minutes, she finally spoke. "What is the university's motto, Chancellor?"

Isaacson felt his heart sink into his stomach. _Oh, hell. Of course, she's smart enough to bring _that _up. _"Veritas aequitas."

"Exactly," Anna said softly. She ran a hand through her hair, her fingertips trembling noticeably. "'Truth and justice.' At all times. 'Do what is right, no matter the cost.'"

Isaacson opened his mouth to object, but Anna continued before he could speak. "You can do whatever you want to me," she said. "Expel me. Blacklist me. That's . . . That's fine. And if you're worried about being . . . about being extorted, you can forget about it. It's not going to happen. No one is going to force you to do anything you don't want to do."

Kristoff started. "Anna—"

Anna's glare silenced the woodsman. She turned her attention back to Isaacson. "You're right, Chancellor. I haven't known Elsa for very long. And maybe this is crazy, I don't even know myself anymore, but . . ." She swallowed, forcing herself to maintain her composure. "But I _do _know I care for her. More than anyone else in the world. And I'm not about to let anything happen to her if I can stop it. Even if I have to break every law ever written to get her back, I'll do it because . . . because it's _right_!"

Wordlessly, Anna retrieved a knife from one of Ryder's suitcases. She walked to the couch, holding it before the chancellor. With a single stroke, she cut through the ropes binding his hands together, doing the same to the bands around his feet a moment later. Isaacson sighed involuntarily as blood began rushing back to his hands. He rubbed his wrists, his expression filled with confusion and disbelief.

"You're free to go now if you want, Chancellor," Anna whispered. "None of us will stop you."

Isaacson looked at the young woman, a look of resignation on his face. "You have a way with words, Miss Reinhart," he said at long last. He pointed toward the bottle of peach schnapps in the kitchen. "Give me that. I need something to make me forget what a terrible idea helping you is—before I change my mind."

Anna looked at the chancellor, stunned. "So . . . So you'll help us?"

"Don't look at me like that, Miss Reinhart," Isaacson grumbled, snatching the bottle of schnapps from Kristoff's hand. "I can't just let Mr. Bjorgman here face certain death by himself, now, can I? Even I have a conscience, after all." He took a long swig from the bottle. "Christ almighty, this had better work."

"It will," Anna said. "It _has _to." She walked to the suitcase containing the uniforms, retrieving a blue woman's jacket and skirt. "What do you think?" she asked, holding it before her frame. "This should do the trick. Right?"

Kristoff stared at her. "Uh, Anna, what exactly are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she said, removing the jacket from the hanger. She slipped her right arm into the sleeve. "I'm getting fitted for my disguise. Which is what _you _should be doing, by the way—"

"I see that," Kristoff said. "But . . . You're not . . . I mean—"

Anna's stare of fury returned. "If you think I'm going to just sit around and wait—"

"I never said that," Kristoff said, raising his hands. "I just—"

"Good!" Anna turned to Ryder. "Got one of those earpieces for me, too?"

Ryder nodded wordlessly as Anna snatched the earpiece from his hand, placing it in her right ear. "Well?" she said. "What are we waiting for? We've got a big day ahead of us if we're going to do this tonight, so maybe we should, I don't know, start preparing now?"

Kristoff glared at Ryder. "Why did you have to bring women's uniforms?"

"I don't know," Ryder muttered. "Maybe you should be a little more _specific _next time on what you want. Besides, she seems capable—and motivated. It wouldn't hurt you to have her with you. "

Kristoff sighed as he watched Anna examining herself in the dingy mirror hanging on the wall. "What do you think, Sven?" Anna called out to the stuffed reindeer still perched on the table by the couch. "I know, it's not too bad, right?"

Kristoff's gaze turned to Stephenson, now passed out on the couch. "Tell me this is going to work, Ry," he muttered under his breath.

Ryder cleared his throat. "I'm not going to lie," he said. "This is probably the most suicidal thing I've ever been a part of—and that's saying something."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"But," Ryder continued, taking a drink from the beer Kristoff had procured for him earlier. "If anyone can pull it off, you can." He glanced at Anna, now trying on a pair of regulation heels. "So, what's her story? How does she fit into all this?"

Kristoff frowned. "I'm not really sure. Just hunches, suspicions." He frowned as he remembered what Stephenson had told him as they drove from the 'Delle to the cabin, as well as the dismissive reaction he'd had when he'd first met the girl four days ago—_God, has it really only been four days?_—that had been more of a cover for his own astonishment than anything else. "If I'm right, though, she's more important to Elsa than even she knows."

Ryder nodded. "Which is why she's coming, isn't it?"

Kristoff took hold of Ryder's beer, polishing it off in one long swallow. "As if I have any choice."

_Whatever you do, Bjorgman, don't screw this up. Any of it . . ._

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	20. Chapter 20: Infiltration

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Twenty**

**Infiltration**

**Wednesday, March 27, 2019**

**6:15 p.m.**

"Elsa? Elsa, can you hear me?"

Her eyes fluttered open, eyelids immediately closing once more as the light overwhelmed them. Nothing felt right to her at all. Her mind was a clouded fog, unable to distinguish between dream and reality. Her throat ached, while her lips practically begged for water, so parched and dry were they. Swallowing, she tried to form words, her tongue fighting against her commands. "Wa– . . . Water . . ."

Eyes still shut, she felt cool liquid press against her lips. Instinctively, she swallowed, eagerly guzzling water as if she had never had the privilege of drinking before. As the coolness coated her tongue, she heard a steady _beep _sound repeat itself again and again at regular intervals. _What . . . What in the—_

"For God's sake, dim the lights, will you?"

She heard the same voice that had aroused her from her descent into nothingness barking orders to a subordinate. Through her still-closed eyes, Elsa could sense the brightness in the room diminish considerably. Her eyes opened once more, squinting as she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing as, at last, her vision came into focus.

She was lying in some sort of bed, she realized, arms and legs securely fastened with heavy, leather straps. Glancing down, she noted her left hand was coated in a sticky adhesive of some sort, long wires and tubes running from her hand to some sort of machines next to the bed. Her clothes were nowhere to be found, she realized, her modesty covered solely by a thin cotton gown barely long enough to serve its purpose. Blinking, she tried to sit up, only to immediately fall back into the bad as pain tore through every muscle in her body, a hoarse groan emanating from her throat.

"Shh, shh."

The voice that had awoken her returned in her ears, a soft caress coming to rest upon her brow. Elsa looked up to see an unfamiliar figure standing over her. It was a woman, middle-aged, dressed in a conservative gray suit. Her auburn hair was long enough to lend the woman an air of femininity, yet short enough to help convey an air of authority that would have been absent in a younger woman's visage. The woman adjusted her glasses, a comforting smile forming on her lips. "Please. Don't strain yourself. There will be plenty of time for that later, I assure you."

Elsa licked her lips, a long strand of platinum blonde hair falling across her face. "Who . . . What . . . Where _am _I?"

The woman inhaled slowly, folding her arms. "You are my guest of honor, Elsa. And I do mean that with all sincerity, in spite of the circumstances." The woman leaned forward, eyes wide behind her glasses, a sense of wonderment upon her face. "You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment. To stand in the presence of a goddess, of the Lady in White herself . . . The pleasure is all mine, believe me."

Elsa felt her cheeks turn red with embarrassment. She frowned as she realized her fingers were not responding to her commands as she tried to summon the reassuring cold. "What . . . What's happened to me?" she choked out, a wave of dizziness overwhelming her.

The woman frowned. "I do apologize, my Lady," she said. "For obvious reasons, I'm afraid you must be kept on a steady drip of sedatives for the time being." She glanced at the nurse in the corner of the room. "I have instructed those attending to you to lower your dose for a few minutes, just enough for us to have this conversation. Then, I am afraid it will be back to the realm of sleep for you until we have relocated you to a more . . ." She paused, thinking. "A more permanent arrangement."

At the woman's words, Elsa began to struggle against her bonds. She cried out in pain and frustration as her arms and legs did little more than flex ever-so-slightly. Exhausted from the struggle and the medication coursing through her system, she stopped, sobbing in despair.

"There, there," the woman said, stroking Elsa's head once more. "There's no need for tears, Elsa. You are about to become the most important woman in the history of the world. That is nothing to cry over, believe me."

Elsa looked at the woman, a pleading expression upon her face. "Please. Just let . . . let me go. I have done nothing to you. Whatever you . . . want me for, just . . . just . . ."

The woman cocked her head, thinking. "I am afraid your pleas are wasted upon me, my dear Lady. I have dedicated my life to the service of my country, and I did not get to my present position by allowing myself to be swayed by emotional arguments. No matter how compelling they may be."

She adjusted her glasses. "Oh, I do apologize. I haven't even properly introduced myself. I am Roberta Remington, director of research at this facility." She took hold of Elsa's right hand, squeezing it tightly. "Again, it is an honor, Your Majesty."

Remington's lips turned upward slightly at Elsa's astonished expression. "Oh, don't act so surprised, my Lady," she said. "We have known of your existence for decades now, believe me. It is our business, after all."

Elsa shook her head, the sedatives still keeping her mind enshrouded in mist. "How . . . I don't . . ."

Remington reached into her jacket, withdrawing a yellowed piece of paper. "Recognize this?"

Elsa simply stared at Remington. The woman sat in the chair next to the bed. "You wrote this, remember? A letter addressed to General Eisenhower himself at the height of the second World War, in which you offered him your assistance with your . . . unique talents."

Elsa's eyes widened. "How . . . How did you find—"

"It is my job to know such things, Elsa," Remington said, placing the letter back in her jacket pocket. "The security of a nation, of its people, depends entirely upon proactive action being taken by those charged with its security, no matter how . . . unpleasant such actions may prove to be." She clasped her hands. "My specific responsibilities include research and development into the latest technology for national defense. And I have been authorized by my superiors to investigate any and all possibilities, no matter how fantastic or impossible they may seem." She leaned back in her chair. "Considering my previous success in this regard, I have been, how do you Europeans put it, _carte blanche _to pursue this agenda no matter where it may lead me. Even if it leads me to someone that, by any reasonable measure, should not exist at all. Even if it leads me to _you_."

Elsa closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I'm so . . . confused . . ."

Remington smiled. "I don't expect you to understand everything now, Elsa. I still can't believe I'm having this conversation with you! I do apologize for the violent manner in which you were brought to this facility. Had I been informed, I never would have authorized such a reckless and callous approach toward securing your services." She sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, these military types I must work with so often only see things in terms of completing the objective no matter the cost, diplomacy and subtly be damned.

"I do," Remington continued, "want you to understand just how valuable you are before you go back to sleep for our journey to the States. Your letter, unfortunately, never made it to General Eisenhower's desk, I'm afraid. Someone read it before it could be delivered to him and, quite naturally, I must acknowledge, found it so . . . implausible that he simply stuffed it in a file somewhere and forgot about it. By the time the file was reopened, the war was over. Germany was occupied. Japan lay in ruins. And as you—wisely on your part, I must say—failed to include specific information on how you could be located, your letter was simply documented as an aborted military project, given a retroactive codename, and placed in the top secret archives—but not before an agreement was reached between the government of Arendelle, where the letter's postage had originated, and the U.S. whereby any member of Arendelle's public institutions was obligated to inform us should evidence of your existence resurface."

She laughed to herself, running a hand through her hair. "But this project is abandoned no longer. Project Snowflake is alive and well, thanks to you. And you, my dear Elsa, are going to reshape how America defends itself going forward."

Remington took hold of Elsa's hand once more. "This facility is remarkably efficient when put on priority alert, my Lady. My scientists have already analyzed your blood, and the results are absolutely astonishing." She tapped Elsa's forehead gently. "Every single cell in your body is surrounded by . . . by _something_ that, we can only assume, is responsible for your unique abilities. We are already hard at work trying to isolate what that 'something' is and replicate it. And once we have, well . . ."

Elsa blinked, realization dawning upon her, a sickening feeling overtaking her stomach. "No. You . . . You _can't _. . ."

"Elsa," Remington said, stroking her hair. "Why are you so reluctant about this? Don't you see what you are? You are the next step in human evolution: A perfect being impervious to aging, to disease, capable of summoning the winter from your very essence. Now, just imagine what it would look like if we could reproduce it! Imagine what we could have: An elite squadron of genetically-modified soldiers, able to singlehandedly devastate an opposing army without the need to send in battalion upon battalion of troops." Remington's eyes were wide now behind her glasses. "How many American soldiers could be spared from death as a result? How many fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters could come home to their families that otherwise would die in the line of duty? How can you deny them this?"

The Lady shook her head, the beeping sound from the machine by her bedside increasing in pace along with her heart rate. "This isn't . . . This isn't a weapon . . ." she whispered. "Never! It's for . . . creating beauty, not . . . not destruction—"

Remington frowned. Rising, she stood over Elsa's bed. "Why are you being so stubborn, Elsa? Why are you resisting? You were willing to set aside your ideals during the war, after all! Why continue to . . ."

The director threw up her hands in frustration. Inhaling slowly, she calmed herself. "I'm sorry," she said. "When I get passionate about something, I tend to let my emotions get the better of me. It's a family trait, apparently."

Remington looked at her watch. "It makes no difference. Soon, we will be safely in America. There, I hope you will be reasonable enough to rethink your position. Until then . . ."

She gestured toward the nurse. Silently, the woman walked toward the bedside, pressing buttons on the machine connected to the IV in Elsa's hand. The Lady attempted to protest, but a wave of exhaustion swept over her. Helplessly, she watched as the liquid flowing into the line increased in pace, the medication making its way inexorably toward her flesh.

"You know," Remington said with a smile. "I have a great respect for your country, Elsa. It's why I wanted to work here. All this time, I had hoped the stories in my family about you were true, but I never had the courage to find out until . . ."

Elsa tried to form words, but her tongue felt as if it were coated in cotton.

"When he was orphaned," Remington continued, "my grandfather's grandfather came to America with nothing but the clothes on his back. His brother stayed here, but he . . ." She shook her head. "He wanted to start a new life—and so he did. But he never forgot where he came from. Nor did he allow the history of his family to be forgotten. Even when his grandchildren dismissed his stories as nothing more than the embellishments of an old man, they continued to pass them on to my generation when we were young."

Remington watched as Elsa's eyes grew heavy, the sedatives overpowering the Lady once more. "Great-great-grandfather Leif," she whispered. "If only you could see this now . . ."

* * *

**Thursday, March 28, 2019**

**1:10 a.m.**

Corporal Jenkins hated the 'Delle.

No, "hate" was not too strong a word to describe how he felt, and Jenkins would be the first to tell anyone who cared to listen precisely that—provided, of course, they did not outrank him and possess the authority to demote him down to mess duty, or worse. Jenkins had joined the Army fresh out of high school, eager to escape the humdrum town he had grown up in in favor of the opportunity to see action across the globe. So it had come as quite a disappointment for him, to say the least, when upon completing basic, he had been assigned not to a hotbed of activity like the Middle East, but instead to some obscure, barely-on-the-map country in the Nordic region of Europe called Arendelle.

Life on the base was nearly as uneventful and routine as it had been back home. Night after miserable night, Jenkins found himself standing guard at the checkpoint at the exterior gate leading into the compound, dutifully inspecting paperwork, making certain visitors to the base had the proper credentials, and so on and so forth, perpetually stuck on the graveyard shift due to his lack of seniority. The nearest thing to "action" Jenkins had experienced thus far in his career was the day he had been obliged to change a tire on a Jeep entering the base, all while the officer in the vehicle called him every insult in the drill sergeant manual for not moving quickly enough for him.

Jenkins yawned as he glanced at the clipboard before him, rubbing his eyes to keep himself from falling asleep from sheer boredom. It was shaping up to be yet another boring night, Jenkins realized; nothing was scheduled to arrive that night. Whistling to himself, Jenkins held up his rifle, inspecting the weapon not out of concern for the weapon's operational status, but because he was so goddamn—

The corporal started as the sound of approaching tires jarred him from his thoughts. He quickly set the rifle down, his eyes widening in surprise as a Jeep approached, stopping just before the checkpoint. Jenkins glanced down, frowning as he doublechecked the night's manifest. He hadn't been imagining things, he realized; there was nothing—absolutely _nothing_—scheduled to arrive until 0600. Sighing, Jenkins exited the small building that was the checkpoint station, walking toward the Jeep. _Probably another goddamn paperwork screw-up again. How many times do I have to tell those bastards that—_

"Hey!" Jenkins called out as he approached the Jeep. "What do you think you're doing? You're not on the manifest. What the hell makes you think you can just . . ."

His voice trailed off as he realized just who was seated in the Jeep. _Oh, shit! _It wasn't just some fellow enlisted man behind the wheel, he realized. Rather, it was an officer—a trio of officers, in point of fact, and none of them looked particularly pleased with his blatant disregard for rank.

"Sir."

Jenkins saluted instinctively as the man behind the wheel stepped out of the Jeep. The officer approached him slowly, dressing him down with his eyes. His blonde hair was cropped short on the sides beneath his hat, the captain's bars on his shoulders glistening as the vehicle's headlights cast their glow upon them.

"Corporal," the officer finally spoke, standing directly before Jenkins. "Tell me: Is this how you always address a superior officer when he arrives?"

"No, sir!" Jenkins responded, still saluting. "I'm sorry, sir. I just . . . I wasn't expecting—"

"At ease, Corporal," the captain said. Jenkins immediately lowered his arm, exhaling loudly. "Of course, you would not be expecting us. This is a top-secret visit on our part. Need to know only. You understand, I assume?"

Jenkins felt his shoulders tense. "Of course, sir. I just . . . I need to see your orders. It's protocol, after all."

"Certainly."

The captain withdrew a sheet of paper from his briefcase and handed it to Jenkins. The corporal brought his flashlight to the paper, studying it carefully. Satisfied, he handed it back to the officer. "Welcome to Arendelle Base, Captain McIlroy."

A pained expression formed on Jenkins's. "I . . . I'm really sorry to have to ask you this, sir, but I need you to let me pat you down. Not that I don't trust you, sir. But it's—"

"Protocol," McIlroy interrupted, an impatient look on his face. "I know, Corporal."

"Captain?"

A woman's voice called out from the Jeep. "Everything all right over there?" After a moment, she followed up with a quick "Sir?"

Jenkins noticed McIlroy close his eyes, almost as if he were irritated as hell. "Everything's just _fine_, Lieutenant," he said as Jenkins quickly ran his hands over his torso and the pockets of his trousers. "The corporal here just needs to make certain we aren't bringing anything onto the base we shouldn't be."

"For God's sake, Captain." A man's voice sounded from the Jeep, startling Jenkins. "What the hell is taking so long?"

"My apologies, General," McIlroy said. "I'm a little . . . busy here."

_General? _Now Jenkins was sweating bullets. He stepped toward the Jeep, saluting as he spotted the older man seated in the back next to the female lieutenant. "General, sir! My . . . My apologies—"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, knock it off, Corporal." The general gestured angrily. "Do you have any idea how late we are? Do you intend to keep us out here all night, or are you just this incompetent?"

"I . . . I, um . . ." Jenkins dropped his hand, uncertain of what to do. "I'm sorry, sir, but I—"

"That's it!" the general snapped. "What's your name? As soon as we get in there, I'm going to demand an immediate demotion for you unless you get out of our way and let us in—_now_!"

McIlroy looked at Jenkins, an empathetic look on his face. "Between you and me, Corporal," he said. "If I were you, I'd just open the gate and look the other way. The last time General Wilmington was this upset . . ." He paused. "Well, let's just say I've never seen dishonorable discharge paperwork printed up so quickly before."

Jenkins blanched. "Understood, sir." He glanced around, making sure no one else from the base was present. Satisfied, he moved back to his station and depressed the button controlling the gate. "Thank you, sir. And welcome again, sir!"

McIlroy climbed back behind the wheel of the Jeep. With a loud roar, the vehicle made its way forward, disappearing down the road leading to the base.

"Nice job, 'Captain McIlroy,'" the young woman behind him said. "You do clean up nicely, after all. Especially with that haircut . . ."

"McIlroy" grimaced, hating the feeling of lack of hair around his ears. "Oh, don't enjoy it for too long, 'Lieutenant Daniels,'" he said. "It'll grow back sooner or later."

The young woman folded her arms. "I _hate _the name 'Daniels,'" she grumbled. "And why do _you _get to be a captain, anyway, when I'm just a lieutenant?"

"Because," McIlroy/Kristoff said. "You barely look old enough to have a officer's commission. There's no way anyone would buy that you'd be anything more than a second lieutenant, believe me."

"Whatever," Daniels/Anna muttered under her breath.

"If the two of you are finished bickering," Wilmington/Isaacson offered. "Might I suggest we focus on the task at hand?"

"Yeah," Kristoff muttered, bringing his fingers to his ear. "Ry, can you hear me?"

The earpiece in Kristoff's ear crackled to life. "Loud and clear, Bjorgman. I'm holding my position here where we jumped the Jeep. I'll lay low until you need me to pick you up."

Kristoff nodded. "Hopefully, quietly. What about you, Stephenson?"

"Yeah, bro." Stephenson's voice sounded in Kristoff and Anna's earpieces. "I'm, like, good to go here."

"Are you sure?" Anna asked. "You'd better not be smoking while we're doing this!"

"Hey, Anna Reinhart," Stephenson protested. "Just relax. I'm all patched in already. Easy as pie. Just tell me what you need, and I'll guide you through the base. This is gonna be fun, right?"

Anna swallowed, hoping against hope the knot in her stomach would untighten. "Yeah. 'Fun.' Let's go with that . . ."

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	21. Chapter 21: Progression

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Progression**

**Thursday, March 28, 2019**

**0130**

"Wow. Ryder was right. Everything _does _look the same."

Anna swallowed as she beheld the interior of the military base. She, Kristoff, and Isaacson were standing at the intersection of two long corridors, the hallways virtually indistinguishable from one another no matter which way one looked. "How are we going to find Dr. Andersen and Elsa in all this?"

"Relax," Kristoff said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "We can do this. But you have to remain calm or—"

"May I remind you, _Captain_," Isaacson muttered, his eyes shooting daggers at Kristoff. "It is most irregular for a commissioned officer to make physical contact with a female subordinate."

Kristoff stared at him, not comprehending.

"In other words," Isaacson sighed. "Get your bloody hand off the 'lieutenant's' shoulder. Now!"

Kristoff glanced upward, instantly aware that four separate security cameras were staring back at him, one from each corner of the intersection. "Oh. Right."

"That's more like it," Isaacson said, rubbing his eyes as Kristoff dropped his hand from Anna's shoulder. "Thank Christ it's the middle of the night and we don't have full staffing wandering the corridors."

"Right," Kristoff acknowledged, clearing his throat. "Stephenson, what do you see? Where do we go to get Pops?"

"I'm on it now, bro," Stephenson responded in Kristoff's ear, the sound of fingers clicking against a keyboard echoing in the background. "Okay. Like, you're gonna go up past three intersections, and then make a left."

"Got it," Kristoff acknowledged. He glanced at Anna. "If you would be so kind, Lieutenant?"

Anna sighed in exasperation as she picked up the heavy briefcase from the floor. "Why do _I _have to carry this?" she whispered.

"Because I outrank you," Kristoff whispered back. "And besides, it builds character."

"Ha, ha," Anna muttered, forcing herself to refrain from sticking her tongue out at her "superior officer." "I can't believe they let us in here without checking this first."

"Like I demonstrated at the entrance," Isaacson said, the trio's feet resounding off the hard floor as they made their way through the deathly quiet hallway. "If a general acts irritable enough, a number of routines are simply glossed over in the name of expedience." He laughed as a thought occurred to him. "I remember my first day in Her Majesty's—"

"Save it for another time, _sir_," Kristoff hissed as they turned left as Stephenson had directed. "We have company now."

The corridor before them was filled with doors leading to interrogation rooms, as Ryder's schematic had indicated. Each door was manned by a soldier carrying a large rifle, all of the men standing at the ready.

"Stephenson!" Kristoff whispered. "Did you get enough video to loop the camera like I asked?"

"You got it, bro," Stephenson responded. "I'm overriding the master feed now. Judging by how, like, lazy the night shift seems to be, I guess you got, like, ten minutes or so before they realize they've been looking at the same image of an empty hallway without you in it—"

"Good," Anna said. She shuddered as they approached the armed guards. "Let's get this over with! I don't want to be here when they figure out—"

"General, sir!"

Isaacson nodded in acknowledgement as the trio stopped before holding room 13-1122. He saluted back halfheartedly at the guard. "At ease, son," he said, making certain to affect the most American accent and cadence in his voice he could. "Let us in."

The soldier glanced at Isaacson, uncertainly. "I . . . I would love to, sir. But I'm afraid the Director was very specific. She made it clear that—"

"Oh, really?" Isaacson stepped forward, an annoyed expression on his face. "Is the Director here now?"

Anna looked at Kristoff worriedly. Her eyes were enough to communicate the message to her companion: _Who's the 'Director'?_

Kristoff glared back at her. _Hell if I know._

The guard thought for a moment, Isaacson's increasingly irritated stare beginning to unnerve him. "Well, I . . . I suppose she's probably sleeping—"

"Precisely." Isaacson snapped his fingers. "Captain?"

Kristoff stepped forward, taking the briefcase from Anna's grasp. Opening it, he withdrew a stack of papers containing page after page of very, very fine print. "Here, General Wilmington."

Isaacson took the papers from Kristoff, extending them to the private before him. "These contain the orders I have received directly from Washington. From the attorney general, in point of fact."

The guard looked at the papers, uncertain of what to do. "The . . . The attorney general, sir? Why would he—"

"Private."

Isaacson's voice was low, each syllable enunciated clearly. "Perhaps you have forgotten how this works. If those in command above you think you need to know just _why _something needs to be done, they will ask you for your opinion. Unless and until they do, however, your job is to do what you're told. Understood?"

The private nodded enthusiastically.

"Good," Isaacson said. "Now, has the Director informed you that the man in the room you're guarding has dual citizenship in both the 'Delle and the U.S.?"

"N– . . . No—"

"Of course not. Why would she?" Isaacson's eyes narrowed. "All you _need _to know, son, is that the attorney general has taken a personal interest in this case because he needs to know if this is something worth bringing to the president's attention. I'm sure you can see the problems that would arise if it were to be discovered we've been holding an American civilian without counsel in violation of his constitutional rights, now, don't you? That is why Captain McIlroy—" He gestured toward Kristoff and Anna. "And Lieutenant Daniels here have accompanied me here so late at night. The good captain here is the finest attorney stationed in this part of Europe. He's here to meet with his client so I can report back to Washington that we have at least done our due diligence in handling this matter." He raised an eyebrow, glancing at his watch. "Now, I have a conference call scheduled with the attorney general to brief him on this matter before he retires for the night. So, unless you want to keep him waiting . . ."

The guard hastily stepped away from the door. "He's all yours, sir. Take as long as you need, sir."

Isaacson returned the private's hasty salute before opening the door before him, Kristoff and Anna following close behind him.

"Wow," Anna whispered as they closed the door behind them. "Nice improvising there." She frowned. "Although, I don't think Dr. Andersen has dual citizenship. And I don't think the attorney general has any actual authority over—"

"Oh, bollocks," Isaacson grumbled, gesturing his head toward the door. "Do you think _he _knows that?" He glared at Kristoff as they made their way their way through the narrow corridor leading to a second doorway. "Well, that's about the extent of my acting skills for one night, Mr. Bjorgman. From here on, I suggest you—"

As they opened the interrogation room door, a familiar voice rang out. "I already told you, I don't have anything else to tell you, goddammit! I am not about to change what I have to say no matter how much you try to intimidate me! You all can go . . ."

Andersen's voice trailed off as he beheld the sight before him. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, not certain his eyes were functioning correctly. "Miss . . . Miss Reinhart?"

Before she could stop herself, Anna was hugging the professor, her arms wrapped tightly around her mentor. He looked utterly exhausted, the young woman noted, his tie nowhere to be found, his vest unbuttoned and rumpled. "I'm sorry," she apologized, fumbling over her words. "We . . . We, um, came as quickly as we could, but—"

"You shouldn't be here," Andersen responded, breaking from Anna's grasp, his eyes filled with worry. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is for you, young lady?"

Anna's eyes narrowed. "Um, in less than a week, I've been chased and nearly eaten by wolves, survived a high-speed chase with you driving, and tried Kristoff's liquor. So, yeah, I think I can handle breaking you and Elsa out of a little old military base, thank you very much."

An exhausted laugh emanated from Andersen's throat. "Touché." He glanced at Kristoff. "I assume you have a plan of some sort, Mr. Bjorgman."

"Of some sort," Kristoff said, setting the briefcase on the table.

Andersen's expression turned murderous as he suddenly caught sight of Isaacson still standing by the doorway. "You son of a bitch!" he hissed, lunging forward. "What the hell are you doing here—"

"Hey, hey, Pops!" Kristoff grabbed hold of Andersen, pulling the older man backward to keep him from breaking Isaacson's nose—or worse. "It's all right. He's with us, okay? Calm down."

"Bastard!" Andersen spat, his face still red with fury. "If it weren't for you, none of this would have—"

"Nice to see you too, Jan," Isaacson said, sighing heavily.

"It's fine, Pops," Kristoff said. "He's helping get you and Elsa out of here. Let's all just calm down and follow the plan."

"Speaking of," Anna said. She pressed her fingers to her ear. "Stephenson, please tell us you've been jamming the camera in this room."

"Like, way ahead of you, Anna Reinhart," Stephenson's voice responded. "Like, as far as anyone else here knows, the professor's been just sitting at the table by himself the whole time."

Ryder's voice crackled across the channel. "Not to try to hurry along this lovely reunion and all, but I feel obliged to remind you all we're on a very tight schedule. And that the longer you take, the sooner whoever's watching the cameras tonight will realize they've been watching looped video instead of—"

"Got it." Kristoff opened the briefcase, hastily removing layer after layer of paperwork. He frowned. "Where is it again, Ry? I'm not seeing it."

"Top left corner, there's a small tear in the lining."

Kristoff blinked. "Um . . . I'm not seeing—"

"You're _other _left!" Anna hissed. "Oh, just let me do it!"

Anna snatched the briefcase from Kristoff impatiently. "See?" she crowed triumphantly as she pulled down the fabric in the corner to reveal a small, digital display. "Now what, Ryder?"

"Okay." Ryder's voice sounded in Anna and Kristoff's ears once more. "Beneath the display, you should see a small button, like I showed you back at the cabin. See it?"

"Uh-huh," Anna acknowledged, her fingers hovering over the display.

"Good. Now, press it."

Anna held down the button. The display suddenly came to life. A digital timer reading "5:00" appeared.

"So far so good," Anna said. "Now, what—"

Her voice cut off midsentence as the timer display suddenly began to blink, scrambling, the numbers turning into random combinations of light. "Uh . . . Is it supposed to do that?"

"Do _what_?!"

Ryder's voice now sounded very, very concerned. Anna felt her heart rate begin to increase. "Well, um, the five-minute counter's gone, and it's, like, blinking at me now—"

"Oh, hell!" Ryder now sounded quite worried. "Tell me you didn't hold the button down! I said, 'Press it,' remember, not 'Hold it down for as long as you want'!"

"Ry?" Kristoff's voice was tinged with barely concealed panic. "Ry, talk to me here."

"Dammit, Anna! I was very specific when I went over this back at Bjorgman's house! Weren't you paying attention?!"

"I don't remember you saying that!" Anna shot back.

"Ry!" Kristoff practically shouted. "What does this mean?"

Ryder sighed loudly through the earpiece. "If you hold down the activation button for more than five seconds, it overrides the presets and defaults to the emergency setting."

"Which is what?" Kristoff snapped.

The display stopped flashing, suddenly reading "0:30."

Ryder's voice was very, very quiet. "About thirty seconds."

Anna's face turned an odd shade of pale green. "Um . . ."

Kristoff snatched the briefcase back from Anna's grasp. "Get out of the way!" He opened the interrogation room door and raced down the small corridor. Opening the door, he hurled the briefcase into the hallway, slamming the doorway behind him over the guard's startled objections.

"Sir?" The guard's voice echoed through the small corridor. "Sir, is everything—"

Through the door, Kristoff could hear a small _beeping _sound, followed by the unmistakable _hiss _that accompanies the release of a gas from its confines. Kristoff removed his uniform jacket, covering his nose and mouth with it as, outside the door, he suddenly heard a barrage of coughing from the guards on patrol. After several moments, a series of loud _thud_s resonated down the corridor, followed by silence.

Sighing, Kristoff walked back into the interrogation room, putting his jacket back on. "Well, _that _was exciting." He glared at Anna. "Can we not do that again, please?"

Anna mumbled something sheepishly. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Kristoff asked.

"I said, 'Sorry!'" Anna said. "But at least that part worked—"

"Barely!" Kristoff folded his arms angrily. "We were _supposed _to put Pops here in cuffs, tell the guard we were taking him to a different part of the base for additional questioning, and leave the briefcase behind so that when the gas went off, we'd be way out of this part of the base and they'd wake up with no memory we were ever even here."

"That part still should work," Ryder offered over the earpiece. "That gas messes with short-term memory when it knocks you out. When they come to, they won't remember what hit them."

"Yeah, but we've just lost ourselves five minutes we could have spent making our way to medical _before _it went off thanks to that little . . . mishap."

"I said I was sorry," Anna muttered. "I just . . ." She stopped herself. "I won't do it again. I promise."

Andersen glanced at Kristoff. "Not to criticize my rescuers, but this 'plan' of yours seems to consist of you simply making things up as you—"

"You wanna stay here, Pops, be my guest!" Kristoff snapped. "Sorry, but breaking into a military base isn't exactly something any of us have experience with to fall back on."

"I didn't say that," Andersen conceded, scratching his beard. "I just—"

Kristoff brought his fingers to his ear. "Stephenson! I assume it worked and all the guards in this corridor are unconscious."

"Yeah, bro," Stephenson responded. "All sleeping like little babies, every single one of them."

"You have about one more minute," Ryder interjected, "before they start to come out of it. I told you: It's a very short-term gas designed to make them forget they ever saw you, not knock them out for hours at a time. We don't want other soldiers catching them unconscious, after all, 'cause _that's _not suspicious at all, right?"

"Copy that," Kristoff muttered. He gestured to Isaacson. "Go ahead and cuff Pops, Chancellor."

"Absolutely not!" Andersen objected. "I will not be—"

"Look," Kristoff said, throwing up his hands. "I don't like it either, but at least this way, we have a plausible explanation for why a civilian who's supposed to be in custody is walking around with us."

Andersen opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, thinking. Finally, he turned to Anna. "All right. I'll wear them. But only if Miss Reinhart puts them on, thank you very much."

Isaacson cleared his throat. "Jan, if I may—"

The expression of absolute contempt on Andersen's face silenced the chancellor. "Jesus, just get this over with," Isaacson hissed as he withdrew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, handing them to Anna.

Anna took the cuffs from Isaacson, placing them around Andersen's wrists. "Trust us, sir," she offered quietly. "We'll get you out of here. I promise."

Andersen smiled at her slightly. "It's not me I'm worried about, Miss Reinhart. It's Elsa . . . and you."

"Thirty seconds," Ryder hissed through the earpiece. "Bjorgman, you and your crew need to move. Now!"

"Stephenson?" Kristoff asked.

"All clear in all directions," Stephenson said. "Like, do what Ryder dude said and, like, get going, bro."

Quietly, the quartet exited the small corridor leading back to the main hallway. Peering out the door, Kristoff saw that the guards were all lying on the floor, unmoving. As he watched, one of them began to stir, slowly coming to.

"Go!" he hissed over his shoulder. Anna and Isaacson fell in line with Kristoff, Andersen in between them, cuffed hands held before him, head bowed down in an expression of abject defeat.

"Talk to me, Stephenson," Kristoff muttered as they rounded the corner. "Have you found where Elsa is yet?"

"Bro, like, have I let you down yet? It's just . . ."

Anna lost track of Stephenson's words as she suddenly came to a halt. The corridor around her seemed to blur and fade away, replaced with a large room filled with people dressed in strange attire . . .

* * *

_"So . . . This is what a party looks like."_

_ "It's warmer than I imagined."_

_ Her fingers curled as she felt her hand reach out toward the woman of the evening, the newly crowned queen of the 'Delle._

_ "I wish it could be like this forever. It can be, can't it, Elsa? We can . . . We can start over tonight. Please?"_

_ Her fingertips were almost touching the gloved hands of the queen, her breath caught in her throat, her spirit desperate for her answer. _Please, Elsa, _she thought to herself. _I've missed you so much. I just want to be your sister again. Please_—_

* * *

". . . Anna! _Anna!_"

The young woman blinked as she snapped back to reality, Kristoff looking at her, concerned. "What was that?" he hissed, glancing about, breathing a sigh of relief that no one had spotted them. "You know we have to keep moving—"

"Sorry!" she said, cheeks now beet red with embarrassment. "I . . . I've just been having these . . . these flashes lately, and they're . . . they're getting . . ."

She shook her head. "Never mind. I'm fine." She began walking forward once more. "Let's . . . Let's just get Elsa and get out of here."

As they walked beside Isaacson and Andersen, Anna heard Kristoff whispering to her. "You'd better be. Fine, that is. Because if you're going to keep doing this—"

"Just let it go!" Anna snapped back, heels clicking against the cold, reflective floor. "I've got this!"

As they continued forward, following Stephenson's guidance, Anna could not help but wonder to herself just who she was trying to convince: Kristoff, or herself . . .

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	22. Chapter 22: Nurse

**Lady in White: Legacy**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Nurse**

**Thursday, March 28, 2019**

**0200**

"Anna, can you stop doing that?"

Anna blinked, looking at Kristoff in confusion. "What?"

Kristoff stared at her blankly. "Humming."

"Sorry," Anna mumbled, cheeks turning slightly red. "I . . . I kind of didn't realize I was doing it."

"Hmm." Kristoff shifted his weight as he leaned against the wall of the elevator. Isaacson stood against the opposite wall, his lips pursed with concern, while Anna and Anderson stood in the center of the small cab. Scratching his chin, Kristoff glanced at Anna again. "Was that 'Pinball Wizard,' Lieutenant—"

"Oh, shut up!" Anna turned away, her face feeling now as if it were aflame. "Of _course_, the medical unit is on the third floor. _Nothing _can be easy for us—"

Stephenson's voice suddenly crackled in Anna and Kristoff's ears. "Ok, Kristoff, bro. I'm looking at, like, a whole crapload of guards with really big guns on the west side of the medical floor."

Kristoff brought his hand to his ear. "Let me guess: That's the end where they're holding Elsa, isn't it?"

Stephenson's fingers flew across his keyboard. He leaned forward as he analyzed the multiplicity of camera feeds emanating from the monitor. "Uh, yeah." He frowned as something else caught his eye. "And, like, not to be the bearer of bad news and all, but, like, the guards you guys knocked out downstairs are all talking to each other and stuff. And they don't look too happy—"

"You'll be happy to know," Ryder's voice cut in, "that I've just texted my contact, and she's told me you have the green light to create the diversion we discussed. She'll be there waiting for you in Elsa's room, but you have to go now."

Anna glanced at Kristoff, a worried look on her face. "What do you think? Do you think it will be enough to get them to leave long enough for us to—"

Ryder cut in again. "That's up to Stephenson here, now, isn't it?"

"Hey, bro!" Stephenson sounded sincerely offended. "I told you, I got this—"

Kristoff winced as the elevator came to a sudden stop. A recorded, feminine voice emanated from the speaker in the cab's ceiling. _Arrival. Level Three. Medical._

"Do it, Stephenson," Kristoff said as the elevator doors slowly began to open, fingers pressed against his earpiece. "Do it _now _. . ."

* * *

". . . okay? Hey, do you hear me? C'mon, give me something, please!"

Elsa's eyelids opened slowly, her vision nothing but purple spots dancing in a sea of blurriness. She tried to speak, but all she could produce was a series of low groans.

The sound of a pair of hands clasping one another in delight filled her ears. "Oh, thank God! You're awake! I've been trying to get you back among the living for nearly an hour now."

Elsa grimaced as she felt a hand touch her brow. "How do you feel?" the voice asked.

Elsa tried to answer, but her tongue merely rolled about her mouth of its own accord. "Wh– . . . Wh– . . . Whazagonon?" she finally managed to ask.

Through the haze that was her sight, the Lady managed to make out the face of a young woman with hazel skin, dark brown hair, dressed in nurse's scrubs. The young woman smiled broadly. "Okay. That's a start."

As Elsa tried to sit up, the nurse moved to the monitors beside the bed, frowning as she read the display. "Hmm. Not going down fast enough." The young woman ran a hand through her hair as she glanced at the IV line running into Elsa's wrist. Withdrawing her cell phone from her scrubs pocket, she scowled as she analyzed her text messages. "Not enough time. Not enough freaking time . . ."

The next thing Elsa knew, the nurse had quickly sanitized her hands and drawn the curtain around the bed shut. She hovered over Elsa's wrist, an apologetic expression upon her face. "Okay. New plan. Sorry I have to go so fast, but . . . well . . ."

Before Elsa could react, the nurse ripped the tape holding the IV line in place off her hand. Tossing it aside, the young woman hastily, yet carefully, withdrew the needle from the Lady's flesh, quickly sanitizing and bandaging the area. "How are you feeling now?"

Elsa looked at the young woman, eyes still glazed over, pupils dilated. "Ow . . ."

The young woman chuckled to herself. "Well, you reacted to that, at least. That's a start. After the dosage of sedatives being pumped directly into your bloodstream . . ." She shook her head. "I tried to bring you off them as gradually as I could, but we don't have enough time for that, unfortunately." She pulled her phone out again. "Oh, for the love of . . ." She brought her phone to her face, thumbs moving rapidly across the phone's screen as she texted. "Good to go," she muttered to herself as she read aloud the text she was composing. "Send them in."

Elsa blinked, her head swirling. "I . . . feel . . . terrible."

The nurse put her phone back in her scrubs pocket. "Yeah, you're going to feel like that for several hours, I'm afraid. I wouldn't try any serious exertion, like walking, if I were you till your body's had a chance to recover." She peered through the curtain, frowning as she saw the guards outside the room still standing at their posts. "Come on, Ryder," she muttered. "What's taking you so long?"

"I . . . Ryder? You . . . You know Ryder—"

"Easy there," the nurse said, pressing her hands firmly on Elsa's shoulders, forcing the Lady back into the bed. "I'm trying to help get you out of here, but you're only going to make it harder for all of us if you try to fight me on this. And believe me, you _are _getting out of here, one way or the other, because if we get caught . . ." A shudder ran down the young woman's back. "Well, that's not even an option. I am _not _going in the Chair, I'll tell you that much."

Elsa groaned, the information the young woman was sharing with her barely making sense to her drug-addled mind. _I know her voice, _she thought to herself. _Who . . . Who is she? _"The . . . Chair?" she managed to choke out.

The nurse's hands clenched involuntarily at the mention of that word. "Yeah. The Chair. That's Director Remington's personal contribution to the field of interrogation. I've never seen anything like it." She closed her eyes, horrible memories stirring in her mind. "I drew the short straw on that one when I first got hired here, so I've had dto be present during interrogations to monitor the vitals of the people she's put in that thing. Grown men who swear to God they'll never talk, reduced to quivering messes begging for death after less than an hour in it." She opened her eyes once more. "You can't hide anything from the Chair, Elsa. And Remington's a sadistic . . ."

The nurse cleared her throat. "Anyway, that's why we _have _to get you out of here. And why I have to get out of here, for that matter. Once they find out I've helped Remington's prize escape, I'm as good as dead anyway. Believe me, if it hadn't been Ryder who asked . . ."

She smiled to herself as she saw that Elsa had fallen asleep once more. "Or if it hadn't been _you _they'd captured . . ." She glanced at her watch. "Dammit to hell, Ryder. What is taking you so long?!"

* * *

Roberta Remington—M.D., licensed psychiatrist, and director of counterintelligence research for the Eastern European bloc—sat at the desk in her living quarters, eyes fixated upon the screen of her laptop. She cast her gaze upon the report she had spent the past few hours writing, occasionally erasing blocks of text, the clicking sound of her fingers against the keys filling the air as she revised the paper again and again and again until, by her standards, it was perfect.

Satisfied at last, she brought the laptop's screen down until it closed against the keyboard. Rubbing her eyes, Remington took a sip from a cup of coffee that had long since turned cold. _You should be asleep,_ she chided herself as the bitter cold liquid coated her tongue. Her eyes briefly glanced at the suitcase resting on the bed. _You've got a big day ahead._

Sleep had never been something Remington had felt much need for, in spite of the multiple lectures she had received from her doctors over the years warning her that she would be lucky to make it to 50 at the rate at which she worked herself. The coffee most certainly didn't help, Remington conceded; she couldn't remember the last time she had consumed less than ten cups in a given day. Still, in her line of work, sleep was a luxury she could ill afford. Not when, Remington reminded herself, the lives of millions of blissfully unaware souls hung in the balance.

_I wonder, _she mused,_ what it's like to _not _know that every second of the day there are men all over the world just waiting for the opportunity to kill you simply for being an American._

Shaking her head, Remington rose from her desk and moved to the Keurig brewer on the kitchenette counter. Wordlessly, she filled the device, savoring the delectable odor of roasted coffee beans as the brewer dispensed her beverage—dark roast, extremely strong, black as midnight, just the way she liked it. Considering the other vices she could indulge—alcohol, recreational drugs, sex—Remington was doing quite well for a woman in her position. At least, that's what she told herself—in her own professional opinion, of course.

She glanced at her watch as she took a long, slow sip of piping hot liquid. Her career in counterintelligence had inevitably led to her engaging in and authorizing actions that most people would find abhorrent, if not blatantly immoral, and she had long since abandoned any pretense of holding herself accountable to any moral code other than "the ends justify the means." And yet, she found herself uncharacteristically questioning her actions over the past forty-eight hours. _Is this really necessary? Are we . . . Am _I _really going to—_

The sound of an alarm blasting across the comm speaker on the wall by the door to her quarters caused Remington to spill her coffee onto the counter. Cursing under her breath, the director made her way to the door, thumb angrily depressing the button on the comm. "What the hell is going on?!"

"We have a situation, Remington."

Remington scowled as she recognized the voice on the other end of the line. "Colonel Reynolds," she responded. "To what do I owe the pleasure of being rudely awoken at this time of night?" She snorted derisively, making certain the sound was directed precisely into the comm's speaker, so Reynolds could hear.

A small smile of satisfaction formed on Remington's lips as Reynolds responded, each syllable dripping with venom, his contempt for having to report directly to a civilian evident in his voice. "My sincerest apologies, _ma'am_," he said. "Far be it from me to disturb your beauty sleep, but if I were you, I'd be checking out Lab D on the security cams."

Remington's satisfied smile vanished, replaced with an expression of abject horror. "Not D Lab!" she hissed. "That's where we have the samples from—"

The director raced across the room to her laptop, quickly flipping the device open. "Come on, come on!" she muttered under her breath, willing the device to come to life. She punched in her access code, jaw dropping in disbelief as she pulled up the window displaying the base's central surveillance system. "Shit!"

D Lab was on fire before her eyes, thick plumes of black smoke pouring across the camera, obscuring her vision. Remington practically sprinted back to the wall-mounted comm. "Why in God's name is nobody putting it out, Colonel?! Do you have any idea what we've been working on in there for the past—"

"Need I remind you, ma'am," Reynolds replied, coolly, "that you made it quite clear that you, and _only _you, have the authority to order base personnel to act when it involves research conducted under your supervision." The colonel sounded almost thrilled as he spoke, Remington noted. "Perhaps," Reynolds continued, "if you weren't such a control freak, I could have—"

"Goddamn you, Reynolds!" Remington spat. "Get your men in there now and put out that fire, or so help me, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Reynolds inquired. "Put me in that Chair of yours?" He laughed. "We'll see how the Joint Chiefs feel about _that_, putting an American citizen and military officer in that monstrosity—"

Remington slammed her fist against the wall in frustration. She wanted so desperately to unleash a string of expletives toward Reynolds, ranging from insinuations regarding his sexual orientation to the size, or lack thereof, of his reproductive equipment. Instead, she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. _Breathe. Just breathe. Calm. I am in control. I am in control . . ._

"Colonel," she finally responded, opening her eyes. "Pull every one of your men on Medical off their current assignments and redirect them to D Lab immediately. I want that fire extinguished ASAP and the samples from the asset saved. I will meet you there shortly. Do you understand?"

"Of course, ma'am," Reynolds responded. "My men will have it taken care of in short order—"

Remington turned off the comm, cutting the colonel's response short. "Smug, arrogant prick." Sighing, she moved to her closet, retrieving a navy woman's suit from the rack. As she removed her nightgown, she glanced toward the images on her laptop. _Your men had better act fast, Reynolds, or so help me, when I'm through with you, you'll be _begging _for the Chair as opposed to what else I'll do to you . . ._

* * *

"Look!"

From the cramped confines of the storage closet, Anna gestured toward the crack in the slightly-open door. "They're . . . They're leaving!"

"Let me see."

Kristoff shoved Anna out of the way, holding his breath as his own eyes confirmed Anna's assessment. "Good work, Stephenson," he whispered, hand pressed against his ear. "How long do you think we have?"

"Well, let's see, bro. I'd guess 'bout five minutes for them to get from this side of Medical to Lab D on the other end of this floor, thirty seconds to realize I've made them look like complete morons, and about three minutes for them to make their way back, pissed off that they were tricked."

"Great." Kristoff frowned. "Not as much time as I would have liked—"

"I'm not a freaking miracle worker, Kristoff dude!" Stephenson protested. "The more shit I mess with here, the greater the odds they'll find out I'm in their system. And if they find out, I'm gonna have to bail, know what I'm saying—"

"Got it." Kristoff turned to Andersen and Isaacson. "You two, stay here. Anna and I will be back as fast as we can, and then we're bailing before they can catch us. Ryder, your contact knows we'll meet her in Elsa's room, right?"

"Yes, for the millionth time." Ryder sounded exasperated. "Although, I didn't have time to give her a physical description, so she might be a little bit jumpy—"

"Come on!" Anna hissed, grabbing hold of Kristoff's arm, pulling him into the hallway. "Less talking, more walking! You heard Stephenson." She pulled her phone out from her pocket, frowning as she looked at the time on the display. "We don't have a lot of time here!"

"I know," Kristoff muttered as the pair made their way down the now abandoned corridor. "Help me find it," he whispered. "Stephenson says we're looking for room MD-304.

"Do you really think Stephenson's distraction worked?" Anna whispered, their footsteps echoing down the eerily quiet hall. "I mean, Elsa's got to be priority number one around here. Do you think . . ."

Her words trailed off as they arrived before room MD-304. Lying on the ground outside the slightly-open door were the unmoving forms of two guards.

"Jeez!" Anna whispered as Kristoff knelt beside the motionless soldiers. "What . . . What happened to them?"

"They're not dead," Kristoff observed, shaking his head grimly. "They're breathing just fine." His eyes fell upon a pair of syringes next to the bodies. He reached for one, holding it up before his eyes. "If I had to guess, I'd say Ry's contact beat us to the punch here."

"Fantastic!" Anna responded. "So, where are they?"

Kristoff rose, his eyes moving toward the door. "Give you three guesses on that one, Anna."

"Great!" Anna groaned, rubbing her eyes. "And Ryder said they were 'jumpy'!" She folded her arms, looking Kristoff straight in the eye. "After you, 'Captain.'"

Kristoff sighed. "Oh, _now_ you want to be outranked. I see how it is—"

"Excuse me for not wanting to end up with a needle in my neck, thank you very much!" Anna threw up her hands. "Fine! We'll go in together."

The two very, very carefully pushed open the door, moving slowly, deliberately. "Hello?" Anna whispered, heart racing as she pressed forward into the dimly-lit room. "Elsa? Ryder's friend? It's us. We're here—"

Without warning, something threw itself onto Kristoff's back, pinning him against the wall. Anna shrieked involuntarily as Kristoff let out a loud grunt of pain. His hands moved to the pair of arms wrapped around his throat, the pressure they were exerting slowly draining oxygen from his lungs. Roaring, he spun around, slamming the whatever-it-was on his back against the wall, his efforts rewarded with a painful shout. The figure fell to the floor, dazed. Before it could move again, Anna was at its side, a pair of medical scissors she had found on one of the shelves pressed against the figure's throat.

"Don't move!" Anna ordered, hoping against hope she sounded more commanding than she felt. "I'll do it! I mean it, I will! Don't . . . Don't make me!"

To Anna's surprise, the figure—a young woman with coffee-toned skin, brown hair, dressed like a nurse—_laughed_. "I'm going to kill you, Ryder," she said, shaking her head. "Of all the people you send do this job . . ."

Kristoff groaned as he reached down, offering the young woman his hand as he recognized her face. "Was that really necessary? You know, the whole jumping on my back and trying to strangle me thing?"

"Oh, come on, Bjorgman," the young woman said, taking Kristoff's hand. "Just like when we were kids, don't you remember?"

Anna blinked, confused. "Wait . . . Wait a minute. You two _know_ each other?"

"That's right, sweetie," the young woman said, smirking. "Bjorgman and I go way, way back."

Kristoff sighed. "All right. Enough, now." He turned to Anna. "Anna, this is Ry's sister . . . Maren."

* * *

**AN: I apologize for the delay in updating. Life has been very . . . busy of late. Thank you for your patience. More to come!**


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